


Something About Harry Potter

by insert_nom_de_plume



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Drarry, M/M, Oral, Owls, Post War, Sex, Ship, otp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 17:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 31,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7396066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insert_nom_de_plume/pseuds/insert_nom_de_plume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy works at an owlery. Harry Potter's past still haunts him. Sometimes they like to hang out. (Post-war)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Harry couldn't forget.

No matter how much he tried, no matter how much his friends tried, no matter how much his lovers tried.

Harry could not forget.

He still felt it in his chest, that sinking sensation, that heavy pull, that twist in his gut.

Cedric Diggory's lifeless form, a vacant container of something that once used to hold life, color, energy.

George. His tears, the way they melted into his skin, the way he turned his head away, the way his hands shook, his breath hitched, his energy weakened, his magic pulsed. Once, twice, and then _weeped_.

Harry could not forget.

Moving pictures kept him up every night, ugly reminders of innocence lost to war. A war he started. The deaths he caused.

And so Harry tried pushing them away. He forced them away, hid them in a box wrapped in rusty chains and locked with a heavy key.

He put the box away, hid it under layers and layers of charms.

Just like all charms, they faded. And every now and then, Harry remembered.

Harry remembered when Fred grinned after the first match they won together. Sirius Black's rough, calloused fingers wrapped around a mug of butter beer, laughing as he clapped his other hand against Harry's back. His first taste of fire whisky with Ron before his eyes sunk into his pasty, freckled skin.

Harry remembered, and he never forgot.

So Harry left it behind, left everyone and everything behind, and took the box with him.


	2. One

Draco Malfoy hated owls. He detested them. He loathed them.

They were too feathery, in his opinion. Too picky. Too self-centered.

Besides, they reminded him of Gryffindors for some reason. Perhaps because they shared similar personalities, but that alone was enough of an excuse for him.

Either way, Draco Malfoy had to work around owls almost every day of the week. The exception being Saturdays when he had a day off if his boss deemed it rightful so.

He had to put up with their messy feathers and messy food and messy fecal matter. And he hated it.

He hated cleaning up after them, he hated feeding them the same food everyday, he hated having to run his fingers over their feathers to "calm" them. Because they needed calming. Because they couldn't do it themselves.

Despite that, when he wasn't around the owls so much but behind the counter or skimming through catalogues in the back room, Draco Malfoy found that he didn't hate his job. He was content. He knew there were worse jobs out there.

He even enjoyed meeting the people who strolled into the store. He liked pretending that the owls didn't bother him as he showed his costumers the difference between a barn owl and a brown owl. He liked telling them of the things he learned about owls that he read over the years, changing the words, giving them a better meaning.

He especially loved charming them.

If Draco Malfoy knew how to do anything it would be how to smile, when to laugh, how to speak, how to persuade, how to pull people in just enough to have them gripping onto every word he spoke, and then when to completely dispose of them.

Some days, he even found himself enjoying his job. He would smile even after the last costumer let the door swing behind them. He would even, and this only happened in very, very, rare occasions, run a finger over the closest owl’s head. 

But most days he just sat behind the register and tried not to think of all the other jobs he could have had. Working as an auror, owning a high position at the Wizengamot, being the vice minister. Sometimes he even let himself imagine having a simple job, like working for Olivander’s (if he hadn’t tortured him, of course) or sorting through books for a living. 

He would always sigh wistfully afterwards. Until he remembered that he was lucky enough to have a job, and that usually put a solid end to his train of thoughts.

—

Things changed for Draco the day Harry Potter stepped into his store. 

Draco was in the back, his mouth lazily working through a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while he charmed a book about owl cross breeding to stay afloat and flip the pages on its own. 

He didn’t notice at first. He didn’t hear the sound of the bell chime as someone stepped into the store’s threshold. He didn’t hear, afterwards, when Harry cleared his throat. Several times, actually. 

He didn’t hear until there was a hesitant “hullo” from behind the staff room’s door. 

Then Draco swiftly put away his sandwich and spelled the book shut, leaving a thud as it dropped onto the small table in the corner of the room.

He carefully dusted off his cloak for any crumbs, then cast a quick cleansing spell just incase, before stepping outside the “staff only” door. 

“How may I help you?” Draco asked, too hurried to get to the counter to see the customer.

He only looked up when said customer remained silent.

Draco wished he hadn’t looked up. He wished he’d taken the day off like he should have but was compelled not to. He wished he had stayed longer inside the staff room until the customer grew tired and left. Most importantly, he wished he didn’t work in this goddamned owlery. 

“Malfoy.”

Draco tore his gaze away from Harry Potter. Potter, with this slightly shocked expression on his face, eyes just a little rounder. Potter, with his electrifyingly green eyes. Potter, with his bloody unruly head of ink black curls. Potter, still dressed looking like he only owned hand me downs. 

Potter who still made Draco’s pulse jerk. 

“Potter.”

Then followed a strained silence. 

Draco occupied that time by fiddling around the register and pretending he was busy doing something.

“I need an owl,” Potter said, rather smoothly. 

His face still looked like a mask to Draco.

“I assumed that is why you're here.” Draco wanted so desperately to call Harry a git. An idiot. A stupid, idiot.

“I thought so.” Potter had the audacity to stuff his hands in his front pockets. Because of course, he was wearing muggle clothes. And of course, Draco began almost instantly examining his choice of clothes.

Potter wore clothes to make him look less like himself.

He wore an oversized muggle sweatshirt with a scattered pattern of holes in it that looked this close to sliding off one of his shoulders. His washed out jeans also had holes in them, and rips, but Draco assumed those were there on purpose. He also assumed Potter had charmed them in place because there was no way they could hang that low on Potter’s hips. Impossible.

Draco felt his shoulders stiffen. “What do you have in mind?”

“I lost my owl ages ago,” Potter said.

Draco said nothing in return. 

“So,” Potter continued. “I thought it was time I got a new one.”

Draco didn’t know why Potter was bothering, he’d read the papers about his disappearance when they first got out almost a year ago. Who would Potter be contacting?

“I meant do you have a specific breed in mind?”

“No.”

Draco finally glanced up again. 

Potter was staring at him and he didn’t look away.

 _Merlin_.

Draco walked around the counter. “What do you need an owl for?”

“What?”

Draco tried very hard not to roll his eyes. “Do I need to rephrase my statement?”

Potter frowned. “No.”

Draco waited. 

“I want one to send letters?”

“Is that a question or a statement, Potter?” Draco felt very much like Snape. He liked that.

Potter didn’t seem to feel the same way. 

“Statement.”

“Right.”

Draco walked to an owl five cages away, on the fifth shelf, and brought down the cage for Harry to see.

He set the cage on the counter, spelled the right key from the wall behind it, and waited as he watched Harry reach out a finger to pet the owl.

“What is it?”

“An owl.”

“What breed is it?” 

Draco was disappointed by Potter’s lack of reaction. 

“Snowy.”

Potter’s lips twitched for the first time. “Hedwig was a snowy.”

Draco didn’t know who Hedwig was. 

He watched as Potter’s hand retreated back to his pocket. “She looks like her a lot.”

“It’s a he.” Draco put the owl away.

He retrieved another and placed its cage in the same place on the counter.

“Barn owl,” Draco said before Potter could ask.

“I can tell.”

“This one is a tough one,” Draco began to say, but Potter had already stretched out a finger. 

Draco waited but the owl did not react as viciously as it usually did.

“I like her.”

“Him.”

Potter glanced up briefly. “I like him. Does he have a name?”

“No.”

Potter hummed. “I’ll take him”

“Ten galleons.”

Potter paid a little more than the required price.

Then he lifted the cage off the counter and stood there.

Draco handed him the key, but Potter didn’t make a move then either.

Draco placed the money where it belonged.

He glanced up and Potter was still there, eyeing the shop.

“Yes?”

“It’s nice here.”

“Nice?”

“Yes. It’s peaceful.”

Draco almost snorted.

“Perhaps.”

Potter’s eyes flickered. “Do you like it here?”

Draco paused. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Good seeing you, Malfoy.”

“Right. Potter.”

Potter was still standing on the other side of the counter.

Draco wanted to cast a spell on Potter that would make him bleed.

“Goodbye,” Potter said, as if he heard Draco’s thoughts.

Potter turned on his heel, and left the store.

Draco stared after the moving door until it clicked shut.

Then he slumped against the wall, running his perfectly slender, pale fingers through his similarly pale hair. 


	3. Two

When Harry Potter walked into the store the next morning, Draco Malfoy was sitting behind the desk with a croissant in his hand as he sifted through that month's log.

He'd almost forgotten that the savior had stopped by the previous day. Mostly because he could barely believe it even happened.

"Hullo."

Draco almost dropped the pastry in his hand as he straightened up in his seat.

He put the croissant down, half-eaten.

Then he stared.

Harry Potter had a beanie on his head, almost hiding his head of curls which only peeked at the side. It even covered a bit of his infamous scar.

"Potter. You're back," Draco said with little to no enthusiasm.

"Yes." Harry was subtly shifting form foot to foot, swinging back and forth on his heels, his hands buried in his deep pockets.

"Why?"

Potter looked away. "I'm not sure."

"Is there something wrong with your owl?"

"Lily."

"Who?"

"Her name is Lily."

Draco held his breath. "Potter, your owl is a male."

Harry Potter frowned. "You didn't tell me that."

"I did."

"No, you must've forgotten. Are you certain?"

Draco clenched his teeth.

"Yes," he spoke between his clenched teeth. "I am certain."

"Oh."

Draco ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "What do you want from me, Potter?"

"How have you been?"

An owl hooted from a cage a few rows away.

"You interrupted my breakfast."

Harry's eyes fell to the croissant. "Sorry about that."

Draco stood up, fetched a tin of worms, and walked towards the fidgeting snow owl.

Harry Potter watched him from the other side of the desk.

The owl nicked at Draco's fingers and he silently cursed at it before dropping a good amount of worms in its tiny food bowl.

"It doesn't seem to like you very much."

Draco barely gave Harry a glance. "None of them do."

"Why's that?"

Draco put the tin back with a thud. "What is that you want, Potter?"

"I haven't seen you since-"

"I know," Draco cut him off.

Harry's expression flickered for the first time. "How have you been faring?"

"I have this job, don't I?"

"Yes. A good one, too."

"Can't say the same about you."

Harry's eyes flashed. "That doesn't concern you."

Draco was suddenly aware of a shift in the energy surrounding Potter. He no longer appeared calm and collected. He no longer appeared to be in a daze.

He was losing his patience. Perhaps his temper too.

Draco wanted to see him crack.

"Maybe not. What do your friends think of it? Or have you not seen them in a while?"

"You don't know anything about my friends."

"I've read about them in the papers. They don't seem very happy."

Harry's jaw ticked. He took a step towards Draco.

"The papers are full of lies."

"So it isn't true about that Weasely girl? How she-"

"Shut up."

"What?"

"Shut up." Harry's voice was barely over a whisper. "Don't talk about her."

Draco smirked. "You still love her?"

"No...I never loved her."

Draco was amused. "Never? Does she know that?"

"Stop it."

"Why? I'm only trying to get to know you."

"I thought you've changed."

Draco paused.

"That's why I..."

"Why you what?" Draco asked, quickly recovering.

"Nothing."

Draco watched as Harry's anger subsided. "Nothing," he said, again.

"You should go," Draco said, tired of how normal Harry looked leaning against the desk in a simple muggle hoodie and baggy jeans.

"Should I?"

Harry took another step towards Draco, who resisted the urge to take a step back.

"Yes. I have work to do."

"I am aware."

Harry's hand reached inside his pocket and he pulled out his wand.

Draco frowned and really backed away this time. "What are you doing?"

Harry muttered something with a lazy swirl of his wand and suddenly Draco's hair swept away from where they fell over his eyes.

Draco had trouble catching his breath.

His hair had grown to the base of his neck over the years, and he let it. It reminded him of his father, and despite what he'd done, Draco still wanted to keep a piece of him around.

"What are you doing?" Draco repeated.

"I live with muggles now. Did you know that?"

Draco swallowed a lump in his throat. "I stopped reading the papers after a while."

"I'm sure you can still find it somewhere. The articles concerning me never cease." Harry put his wand away.

Draco's shoulders relaxed. "You like that, don't you, Potter? You always liked the attention."

Harry Potter's lips twitched. "Of course. Fame, fortune, women. That's everything I could ever wish for, isn't it? The good life. It's what you want, too. What everyone wants. I have it."

Draco almost laughed. Instead, he settled for a sneer. "Speak for yourself."

Harry tilted his head to one side as he slid his eyes up and down Draco's body. "Men?"

"What?"

"Men. Not women. You like men."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Potter grinned. "That works as well. I can have both."

"Good for you."

"But it's not what I really want."

Draco had nothing to say to that.

"You think you know me, Malfoy. You think I like this. You think I've gained from this. That I built my life with the death of my parents."

"You just said that you do," Draco spat. "You're sick."

Potter laughed this time. "Well, you're wrong."

"About which part?" Draco clenched his fists.

"All of it."

Silence settled amongst the old rivals. It stretched out for a while until Draco reached for another can. This time he picked the ones with beetles in it. 

He began filling empty food plates, feeling Potter's eyes on his back but when he turned around, Harry's attention would be elsewhere. 

"Stop it," Draco demanded after returning the can.

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me. Why are you still here?"

Harry did not respond. He only averted his eyes, which settled on the wall of keys behind Draco.

"Just get out, Potter. You're making me sick," which wasn't a complete lie on Draco's part. He did feel sick. He wanted to _be_ sick. 

Potter's dark wisps of hair were starting to escape from their confines under the silly thing made of wool on top of his head. They were starting to frame his face. They began brining out the green in Harry's eyes, which sparkled more than ever now that they'd settled on Draco. His green eyes were roaming Draco's own features, and Draco hated the feeling it left on his skin. He wanted to scrub it all off. 

"Get out," he said, his voice barely audible.

Potter nodded, pulling his beanie over his hair, and Draco watched as his curls disappeared again.

"Goodbye, Malfoy," Harry said, his voice rough.

The door shut tightly behind Harry Potter.


	4. Them

Harry Potter could not remember when they first started going after him.

They always followed him around.

In the streets, between bars, under the tunnels.

Every time he turned around.

At first he thought he was being dramatic. Seeing things. Imagining things.

Now, as one of them cornered him in a dark alley, he knew they were real.

As the dark figure produced a wand from its cloak, he knew that he had to get rid of them.

All of them.

_One. By. One._


	5. Three

Harry Potter came back to the store a week later.

Despite the fact that Draco had a feeling he would never see Potter again, he still found himself waiting for the green eyed man to walk into the owlery every morning.

He was sure he'd driven the man away for a good. He'd even told his boss about him.

"Who?"

"Harry Potter."

Pansy Parkinson almost dropped the box of hay in her hands.

"Potter?" She almost shouted. "What was he doing here?"

Draco had shrugged, pretending to act nonchalant when really, he was just as curious. He'd only brought up the subject because it'd been three days since Harry Potter dropped by, and Draco started feeling that maybe he was seeing things after all. Telling someone about it sort of made it feel a tad bit more realistic.

"He bought an owl."

"What would he need an owl for?" She snorted.

"I asked him the same thing."

Pansy whistled. "Does he look the same?"

"I guess?"

"No, really. You've stared at him long enough back in the day, tell me."

Draco gave an impatient sigh. "He looks the same."

"Fit?"

"If you are interested in Muggle clothes and unkept hair."

She tsked. "Still the same, then."

"Still the same," Draco echoed, but Potter was not still the same. There was something different about the man who walked into the owlery that the Harry Potter Draco knew from Hogwarts did not possess.

Therefore, when the bell chimed, and Harry did walk into the store a few days later, Draco tried his best not to stare while trying to figure out exactly what was off about Harry.

"Hullo."

"What is it this time?" Draco didn't mean to sound rude, it just happened.

Harry Potter stuffed his hands in the pockets of his oversized jacket. "Come over."

Draco didn't care that he was staring anymore. "Excuse me?"

Harry took a closer step towards the counter. "Come over to my flat."

"Why?"

"I can make tea."

"So can I, and anyone else with the right mind."

Harry's fingers adjusted the round glasses that still hung on the bridge of his nose. "Yes, but I make really good tea."

"What is that you really want, Potter? I'm sick of guessing."

"Guessing?"

Draco refused to cave. "That's what I said. Or is the word too big for you to comprehend?"

Harry Potter's green eyes flashed the same way they did a week ago, and Draco felt that same nauseating need to nudge him even further.

"Will you apparate with me or not?" Harry asked.

"I have work to do. Besides, I wouldn't want to."

Draco always believed honesty was key.

"Why not?"

A laugh escaped Draco's lips before he could do anything to control it. "What do you think?"

"I thought that was behind us. After what happened with-"

"It is," Draco rushed.

He composed himself. "Yes, the past is behind us, Potter."

Harry didn't look reassured, but he nodded slowly. "All right. When do you get off?"

Draco wanted to smirk, or snarl in disgust, or do _something_ in response to Harry's word choice. 

He settled for clearing his throat. Once.

Twice, when Harry pinned him with a gaze that left the skin on his ears scalding. 

"In a couple of hours."

"I'll swing by then."

"No need," Draco interjected. "Just leave me your floo address."

He went on to produce a pen and paper, leaving them side by side on the desk before sliding them across the surface, closer towards Harry. 

Harry stared at the pen and paper before glancing up at Draco again.

"What?"

Nothing.

"You don't have a floo address?"

"I didn't want to take any chances."

"Merlin's sake, Potter," Draco spat out, wrenching the items and replacing them to where they belonged.

"I'll come by in a few hours."

"This better be worth my time, Potter."

Something in Harry's eyes told Draco that it would be worth it. It would definitely, definitely be worth it.

\--

Harry showed up at the exact time Pansy came in for her shift.

They stood next to each other at the entrance while Draco got ready to leave, exchanging his work robes for something a little less confining.

"So..."

Draco listened as Pansy tried to strike up a conversation.

It didn't go very far.

Mostly because Harry seemed distracted by everything else. He even wandered towards an owl, interrupting Pansy mid-sentence. 

"Great talk," she muttered as Draco neared the door.

Harry glanced up upon his appearance. "Ready to go?"

"What?" Pansy turned to Draco.

He almost rolled his eyes. "I'm having lunch at Potter's."

Pansy glanced between the two men, shook her head with disbelief, and walked away while muttering incoherent words under her breath.

Harry stretched out a hand.

Draco stared down at it as if it suddenly grew ten extra fingers. 

"To apparate," Harry tacked on.

Draco cleared his throat. "Right."

He took Harry's hand, cautiously, praying to Merlin that it didn't feel clammy. 

Then he barely blinked his eyes before the world spun around him and his legs wobbled.

They were at Harry's apartment and it was everything yet nothing like Draco expected it to be.

"It's cosy," he found himself saying.

"Do you like it?" 

"Perhaps if it was a little bigger," but Draco was lying. He loved Potter's apartment and he hated himself for thinking so.

"Perhaps," Harry repeated. "The Muggle market doesn't have as many options as one would expect."

"Interesting." It really wasn't.

"I ordered some take out."

Draco's eyes followed Harry's hand gestures, which led him to a small table in his living room that contained a heap of plastic bags with Chinese symbols on them.

"I hope you're hungry," Harry continued as he walked off towards the couch. He began unpacking a few bags, revealing a few cardboard boxes. "I might have ordered a bit too much."

"That's fine," Draco said, but he stood still. 

He was watching Harry from a distance.

It felt safer that way.

"Have you ever had Chinese take out before?"

Draco answered with a "no".

"Oh. I hope you like it. I ordered my favorites."

Harry unpacked everything, gathered the plastic bags, and disappeared off towards what Draco assumed was the kitchen.

He wandered back in and shrugged out of his coat.

Draco tried not to stare.

Because Harry was wearing nothing but a threadbare sweater that hung loosely off one shoulder, revealing a vast amount of tanned skin and bones. Sharp, angular bones. 

Draco pealed his eyes away, feeling as if someone had shot a rubber band over his heart.

"Are you going to sit here or shall I bring the food over to you?" Harry wore a casual smile on his lips.

Draco wanted it gone.

He dragged his feet to the couch and sat down, back straight, exactly like he was taught as a child.

"Do you know how to use chopsticks?"

"Do I look like a fool?" Draco snapped, grabbing the wooden chopsticks from Harry's hands. 

He hated that their fingers brushed. He hated that his skin _burned_. He hated that it made his stomach clench then unclench. 

"No."

Draco ignored him. Harry wasn't supposed to respond. It was a rhetorical question.

Harry Potter didn't care, though. He spent the next half an hour shoving different Chinese food under Draco's nose. 

Draco tried everything, then had everything twice.

Harry ate a little from everything, but Draco barely noticed because he loved the food. He loved how different it was. It had been a long time since he had any Asian food and this was _so_ good. 

He licked his lips as he finished the noodles in one box, using his chopsticks to fish out a half-eaten prawn.

"Would you like a drink?"

Draco nodded, swallowing the food in his mouth. "What do you have?"

"Beer."

Draco stared at him. "That's it?"

"Water. And I think a carton of orange juice."

"I'll have the beer." Draco frowned. "Can't you afford better drinks?"

"I like beer," Harry said as he stood up.

He disappeared to the kitchen again.

Draco used that time to shovel down more food. 

"Did you have a fortune cookie?" Potter asked as he walked in carrying a pack of beer.

"Is that Muggle beer?"

"It tastes better."

"This is ridiculous."

"You haven't tried it." Harry muttered something and the cap popped off the bottle. He handed it to Draco.

Draco took a sip and scrunched his nose in disgust before controlling his features again. "It isn't any better."

"You get used to the taste after a while." Harry passed him a fortune cookie.

Draco broke his off hesitantly, waiting as Harry did the same, before pulling out the folded up paper inside.

He snorted as he read the fortune. "Muggles."

"I like mine."

Draco glanced at him. "What does yours say?"

" _You will live a young, happy life._ "

Draco smirked. "Ironic."

"Why?"

"You're a hero. Heroes die young."

Harry looked away, but he said nothing as he slipped the message in his front pocket.

Draco Malfoy didn't want to feel, but he did, and what he felt was guilt and understanding. Towards Potter.

He handed Harry his message without a word and stood up. "Thank you for the lunch."

Harry's eyes were busy scanning over the words on the slip of paper. "It was no trouble."

Draco stood impatiently by the couch, waiting for Harry to look up, but he was staring at the paper as if nothing else in the world existed.

"Is there any other reason why you wanted me here?" Draco asked.

Potter finally looked up at him. "I need your help."

Draco stared at him. "You're joking."

Harry held up the piece of paper between two fingers. "Not really."

_You will help whom you least expect to help._

This wasn't going the way Draco expected it to go. He was going to drop by Potter's place, have lunch, find out what he wanted from him, and then carry on with his life. 

Harry wasn't supposed to ask him for help.

"What is it?" Draco asked.

"I think there's someone after me."

Draco's eye brows met in confusion. "Could you be a little more specific?"

"I see...I see people behind me every time I leave my home. They follow me around."

"You mean, like before?" Draco didn't want to say it.

"No, this is different. This is more personal, I think."

"Like Voldemort's stupid quest wasn't personal."

Harry stared at him. 

Draco supposed it was because he'd uttered the Dark Lord's name while everyone assumed he would flinch just hearing it. But Draco wasn't afraid. He was over it. All of it. It was behind him. Well in the past. Gone. Over. Done.

"You have a point," Harry said. "But this isn't his work. There isn't dark magic involved. It's just...They follow me but they never tried to hurt me."

"What's their aim, then?"

"I have no idea."

Draco stared at him blankly.

Harry continued. "I was hoping you would know."


	6. His

Harry Potter could see her now. With her long, bright red hair in a high pony tail. 

It felt like walking into a wall. A sudden slam, and then just the excruciating pain that followed, slowly numbing down after a few minutes.

It was like that. 

Numb.

He was sure he was dreaming.

She couldn't be one of them.

They were tall, and dark, and just _bad_. Evil.

She was kind, compassionate, understanding.

She was the flower that bloomed amongst the rubble. Amongst the ruins.

She was _his_ flower. 

Not their's.

Never their's.

She couldn't be.

He wouldn't let her.

Until she cornered him in a dead-end street corner and all he could remember seeing was a flash of green. And then darkness.

Complete utter darkness.


	7. Four

Draco Malfoy had a day off.

He finally had a day off.

It had been too long. Far, far too long.

Draco decided to celebrate the occasion by taking a walk. As one does on a sunny, beautiful Saturday morning.

He went to the park first.

Finding a vacant bench, he took a seat and leaned back after taking a deep breath and sliding his eyes shut.

Relaxing.

It was so relaxing.

He could feel the wind nip at his cheeks, probably reddening his nose in the process. He could feel the soft breeze ruffle his hair. He could smell the different flowers around him, the distant pretzel cart, the sound of muggle children having fun, birds chirping. 

He exhaled with an audible sigh.

"Care for an ice-cream?"

His gray eyes shot open at the familiar voice to his left.

"Potter."

Of course it was him. Of course. Who else would interrupt his lovely morning?

Draco felt a wave of irritation shoot up his spine.

"Ice-cream." Potter thrust the (dripping) ice-cream cone in his direction.

Draco took it. Only to shut him up.

Not because it looked delicious. 

Potter placed a finger in his mouth to suck it clean. Draco's nose twitched with disgust, but he chose to ignore the action as he took a bite out of his own ice-cream.

It really was delicious.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Went looking for you back at the owlery. Pansy said you'd be around here somewhere. She also said to remind you of sixth year. Not that I know what that means."

Draco mentally cursed at Pansy. He'd have to have a conversation with her about this soon. Really soon.

"I have the day off. I was hoping that meant I wouldn't see any customers."

"Oh, I'm not here about Lily."

"Potter-"

The Boy Who Lived looked at him expectedly.

"Oh, never mind you idiot."

Potter frowned. "Anyway. I need your help. As I mentioned."

Draco sighed, consuming more of his ice-cream and hoping that would be enough to make him happy again. 

Like he was before Potter showed up.

"What is it? Those figures following you around?"

Harry nodded. "I think I saw one on my way to see you."

"Great. You think they're after me, too?" Draco smirked.

"No. But I think they could be. If they see us together." Harry looked around anxiously.

_Well, shit_ , Draco thought. _He really is out of his mind._

"Potter," he spoke slowly. "Maybe you should show me where they are."

"Were," Potter corrected. "They disappeared right after I pulled out my wand."

"Show me."

They completed their ice-creams and Harry Potter led Draco Malfoy away.

"Here?" Draco asked when they came to a stop. "You pulled out your wand _here_?"

"Yes. They were getting closer."

"Potter, you git. Any muggle could have seen you."

"Oh, but nobody was around."

Draco cussed, glancing around. 

Sure, it was pretty empty at the moment, but there were buildings all around them. Buildings had windows. 

Potter was either very lucky or was about to get in serious trouble with the ministry. 

"Let's get out of here," Draco said after surveying the area another time.

"I think they were headed that way," Potter pointed south.

"No, Potter. We are not looking for them."

"We're waiting until they find us?"

"No," Draco scowled. "No. I am going home."

"Oh. Can I come with?"

Draco didn't care that his mouth was moving like fish's. "You want to go to my flat?"

"That's where you're going?"

"Yes." He hissed.

"Yes." Potter nodded. "Your flat."

Draco took a deep breath and quickly counted to ten. "Potter. Are you listening to yourself? _You_ want to come to _my_ flat?"

"Yes."

Draco stared. He stared at Potter for a while. Then he turned on his heel and walked the other direction.

"Where are we going?" Potter called after him, quickly catching up.

"St. Mungo's."

Potter frowned. "Why?"

"There is something wrong with you."

Potter stopped walking. Draco was too confused to do anything but copy him. 

"There is nothing wrong with me."

"Do you remember bumping your head? Falling down the stairs? Had a spell backfire? Drink an expired potion? Someone you don't recognize waving their wand at you? Having your-"

"Shut up," snapped Potter. "There is nothing wrong with me."

"You've already said that, Potter."

"Look," Potter sounded frustrated. 

Finally.

A feeling Draco was familiar with.

"I just don't want to be alone in these streets. I see them everywhere."

Draco didn't bother following Potter's line of vision. "Do you see them now?"

"No...No but it's just a feeling I get. I can't see them but they're here."

"You can't come to my flat."

Harry looked heartbroken. "Why not?"

"They'll know where I live, Potter. They already know where _you_ live so it's all right. But why would I want them knowing where my place is?"

Potter thought it over. "Okay...Okay. Come to my place then. Again."

Draco sighed.

His one day off.

One, bloody day off.

Gone. 

Just like that.

_Poof_. 

Right out of thin air with only a trace of unruly hair and green eyes.


	8. Five

Draco scanned over Harry Potter's flat again.

It looked the same as it did the other time he'd dropped by, only maybe a little bit messier.

But that seemed like a Potter thing to do, and Draco swiftly ignored the thought.

"What now?" he asked instead.

"Would you like to play a game of chess?"

Draco knew it was something the Weasley liked to do. Was really good at doing, actually. He'd remembered that fact. From all the times he'd watched Potter and his friends loitering around the castle as if they owned it.

He would watch them and then turn to his own friends. Then convince himself that he was happy with the way things were for him. He didn't want anything else.

Especially not to be Harry Potter's friend.

"No," he responded.

"Just one? It's been a while since I played." Potter had that far away look on his face, like he was temporarily caught in a stream of memories.

"No."

"Ron used to play. Very well, actually. Did you hear what happened in first year? He-"

"Yes," Draco spat. "I heard. If we play will you not mention the Weasel again?"

Something dangerous flashed in Potter's eyes, but it quickly disappeared. "Yes."

"Fine then." Draco felt a stab of guilt at the void expression on Potter's face, but swept the feelings aside for another time.

The chessboard was set up on a coffee table, and Draco made a subtle fuss about Potter _making_ him sit on the floor.

Potter sat on the other end of the chessboard and started the game.

It didn't take long before Draco defeated him. He expected Potter to demand a rematch but the man just smiled and walked out of the room.

Draco stared after him.

Should he follow or just sit there? Potter didn't say anything to him. Just left. As if he thought Draco knew what to do.

As if he'd done it many times before.

Draco refused to follow Harry around his flat, so he stood from the floor and took a seat on the couch. Then he waited.

Not for long, as Harry emerged from where he disappeared to just moments later.

"Are you coming?" he asked.

"Where?"

"My room."

Draco felt a laugh try to escape him. "Why?"

"Well, don't you want to see it?"

"No, Potter. I do not have any interest in seeing your bedroom."

Harry frowned. "Come see it away."

"Why?" Draco repeated.

"Because it's my room."

Draco wanted to make a joke but not one idea popped in his mind.

He stood up from the couch, cringing as Harry sent him a grin in return before disappearing through the doorway.

\--

If Draco thought Harry's apartment was messy, his room was a cosmic explosion.

Everything was everywhere, he felt like curling into himself with just one step inside the room.

"Have you ever heard of cleaning?"

"Yes."

Draco felt his eyes roll before he could stop himself. "So what should I be looking at?"

"My room."

"No, I mean specifically."

Potter blinked behind the hideous, round glasses that he miraculously managed to save.

Draco huffed and walked over to the dressing table where he scanned the little trinkets scattered all over the surface.

"What's this?" he held up a yarn string with the very tips of his fingers, as if merely holding it was enough to label him a permanent resident at St. Mungo's.

"Just a string from one of my jumpers." Potter looked away.

"Weasley?"

Potter shrugged.

Sighing, very dramatically, Draco resumed his exploration. "A pen, a parchment paper, a galleon, a-"

"That one's fake," Potter nodded his head towards the coin.

"A fake galleon, a sweet wrapper, suspicious rubber material." Draco paused, internally gagging. "Another pen, a container with a cream of some sort-"

"Lube."

Draco looked up. Slowly. "What?"

"Not a cream. It's lube."

"Why-?" Draco shook his head. "Never mind that."

They stood silently for a few seconds.

"Are you going to continue?" Potter asked.

"No."

"Okay."

Another awkward silence.

"I should get going." Draco made to move for the door but Potter quickly stood in his way.

"Stay for lunch."

Draco chuckled. "I think not, Potter."

"Stay for lunch." Potter repeated, now looking up Draco with his blindingly green eyes.

"No, I have better things to do than have lunch with you."

Harry Potter took a closer step, and suddenly Draco's feet refused to function. "Stay."

Draco tore his gaze away. "I have to go."

"Why?"

"I just do." He spat out, finally circling around Potter and walking out of his room.

Potter followed him out. "What if they see you?"

"Who?"

" _Them._ What if they follow you?"

Draco turned around. "They're not out there."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because..." Draco was going to continue, but he caught the way Potter's eyes shot around his own apartment suspiciously. "Let's look outside the window and check."

They moved to the window and Draco had to convince Harry to pull up the blinds.

"What do they look like?" Draco asked.

"Dark. Tall. Their faces are covered most of the time, but...but sometimes I can see their hair."

"Their hair?" Draco frowned.

Potter didn't respond, just chose to stare outside the window.

"Well...see?" Draco pressed a finger to the glass. "No body there."

"What if they're hiding?"

"What if they're not?"

Harry turned to look up at him. "I'll order Chinese again."

Draco sighed. "Chinese and then I'm out. Understood, Potter?"

Harry moved to grab the muggle telephone, a smile slowly forming on his lips. "Understood."

Draco wanted to know what had made him say yes.

If anyone asked, it was the free food.  

\--

"Okay, Potter." Draco set his chopsticks down. "Deal is a deal. I'm out."

"No, wait." Harry stood up and took a few quick steps to the window. He slowly peeked out. "Just checking."

Draco stared at him. "So. Remind me. Why do you care if they catch me? Last time I checked, we're not exactly the best of friends."

"No one deserves their cruelty."

Draco hesitated. "What do they do?"

Harry licked his lips. "I can't say."

"Why not?"

"I haven't exactly seen them do anything bad."

Draco tsked, shoulders relaxing. "Unbelievable. Even for you, Potter."

He moved to the door and twisted the nob. 

"No!"

Harry spelled the door shut.

"You can't do that," Draco demanded. "You live amongst muggles, Potter. Merlin, you're such an idiot."

"I was protecting you." He lowered his wand.

"I don't want your protection."

"But you need it."

"There's no one out there who wants to hurt me anymore! Why can't you just let that go?"

"I can't. I can't. I can't if I see them everywhere."

Draco strode over to Harry and grabbed him roughly by the arm before pulling him out of the apartment. "Show me."

Harry stared at him for a moment. Draco stared back, unfazed. 

"Okay."

Potter led him out of the apartment building and down the street. They walked past buildings, a park, stores, houses, until Draco thought enough was enough.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked.

"Nowhere. I'm waiting for them to show up. We just need to walk around a little longer and then-"

"Are you listening to yourself?" Draco ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Potter was quiet but his eyes were screaming as they bore into Draco's. "You don't believe me."

Draco looked away and started walking his way back.

Potter didn't follow.


	9. Again

They saw him walk away and that's when they came out again.

"No. Not now. Not now."

He ran but in the other direction. "Take me. Leave him alone and take me."

They followed him, chased after him, wands out and pointing.

He felt them close in. Just a little. Felt something brush against the back of his legs.

Then he was falling. 

Down.

The ground was zipping towards him until he heard a thud.

He rolled around, tried to get up again, but he saw them.

They towered over him. Watching him. Closing in on him. Snarling, hissing, growling.

Then darkness again.


	10. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thanks for the kudos!**

Draco Malfoy was in a foul mood again, and Pansy Parkinson had a strong inclination that it had nothing to do with the owls around them this time.

"Did you feed this one?" she eyed Draco carefully from the corner of her eye where she stood facing a stubborn barn owl.

Draco nodded mutely and continued to scowl at the owls, oblivious of the tension that hung around them like a suffocating cloak, two sizes too small.

She sighed. "Is this about Potter?"

Draco's head shot up but he quickly looked away. "No. Why would it be?"

"For one, you had lunch with him a few weeks ago. And when you came back from your day off last week you didn't look as happy as you usually do."

"I usually look happy?"

"After a day off, yes."

He frowned.

"Talk to him," she said quietly, then placed the can of worms away and touched his shoulder briefly before hiding away in the back room.

Draco stood still.

Talk to Potter? And tell him what? Say what?

And if he asked why? What would Draco say? That he  _cared_? Anyone would scoff at that.

He sighed.

Then straightened up, cleared his throat, and walked to the back room.

He knocked on the open door before stepping in.

"Can-?"

"Yes."

"How did you know what I was...Oh, forget it. I'll be back in an hour."

Pansy smiled. "No you won't."

He scowled at her before apparating away. 

\--

"Draco."

Harry Potter was half hiding behind his open door.

"Malfoy."

"Sorry, yes. Malfoy...What are you doing here?"

Draco ignored the itching need to stuff his hands into the pockets of his robe. "I'm not sure."

Harry's head moved left and right as he examined the minuscule hallway. "Come in."

Draco took a step inside.

"You boarded up the windows?"

"Just for now," Harry said hurriedly. "Nothing temporary." 

Draco didn't care. He couldn't stop staring at the wooden slabs nailed across the windows.

The apartment was a lot darker because of that. Harry didn't bother turning on the lights, and Draco had to make his way to the couch in darkness, trying his best to avoid the odd shapes in his way.

"Would you like a beer?"

"Is it any of that muggle stuff?"

"I try to avoid the wizarding world as best as I can."

"Yet you showed up at the owlery and bought an owl...Speaking of, where is he?"

"Lily has her own room."

"Oh for fuck's sake, Potter. Your owl is a male."

Harry ignored him and left the room, just as he had the week before.

Draco could see his figure emerge again behind the archway with the sound of fluttering feathers. 

"Lily," Harry held out the owl.

"I'm not going to pet your owl, Potter."

He heard him sniff before letting the owl go. Its dark shape flew away back to where it came from. 

"I'll get the beer."

"I'll come with you." Draco stood up.

He could see Harry linger for a second before he followed the outlines of his figure to the kitchen.

It was a small room with all sorts of Muggle cooking equipments and furniture. The little window in one corner had its blinds drawn but Harry hadn't bothered boarding it up. 

Draco could see him a lot clearer then. Harry in his Muggle clothes, again. Oversized, again. Threadbare and out of date, again. His hair a mess, too, which Draco just accepted would never look any different. 

He tore his gaze away as soon as Harry opened his fridge and bent down to retrieve a pack of six bottles. Draco helped him pull out the bottles out of the cardboard paper holding them together, and they each took a seat around the kitchen table.

Harry pulled out a bottle opener and proceeded to uncap the bottles.

"I could just spell that for you," Draco said.

Harry shook his head. "We probably shouldn't use magic around here. Last time...I was, I wasn't thinking right."

Draco didn't say anything. He didn't want to, not now that Harry's eyes finally lost that unfocused, sheen glaze. This was the okay Harry. The one he knew from school. The one who saved his life and everybody else's. 

He was suddenly terrified it would come back. He couldn't explain it but he just wanted Harry to stay like  _this._ All the time. Sane. 

If he spoke it would crumble. He was sure of it.

So he didn't say a word. Just watched Harry nurse a bottle of Muggle beer in his hand while tentatively taking a few sips. "It really isn't as different as the magical one."

Draco gave a brief nod.

"Really. If you don't focus too much, close your eyes." Harry closed his eyes. "Ignore that slight difference...Tastes just like it."

He opened his green eyes again and stared right into Draco's eyes. "You should try."

Draco tried. He didn't try to taste the beer. Analyze it like Harry had asked him to. He just swallowed a sip and gave a nod. He was thinking of other things. The beer  was just a background noise amongst something greater.

"See?"

He nodded again.

Harry looked away, tilting his head back the closer he got to the bottom of the bottle, his Adam's apple bobbing with every swallow. 

Draco licked his lips and took another swig. Then another. Merlin, he needed it. 

"What about you?"

Draco took a deep breath. "What about me?"

Harry shrugged, eyeing him as he set aside his empty bottle and popped open a new one. "I don't know. Tell me something."

"I don't drink a lot. Well, not on a regular basis. When I do I usually have something old and pricy."

"What else?"

"I never cook."

Harry cracked a smile. "How do you eat?"

"I buy it ready. I was never allowed into the kitchen."

"Right, Malfoy the pureblood wizard."

Draco scoffed. "No shit. It was terrible. Couldn't even make myself a sandwich."

"I could help with that."

Draco stared at him. "Oh?"

Harry shrugged, lazily pushing his hair back.

Draco certainly did  _not_ trace the movement with his eyes. 

"No problem," Harry said. "I've been cooking for as long as I can remember. Always have. Except at Hogwarts."

"Of course." Draco couldn't look away. "You grew up with Muggles."

Harry nodded, taking a sip of beer. "They had me cook all their meals. Made me into their little slave."

 _Now_ he could look away. He remembered all the times he'd teased Harry about his upbringing. It wasn't fair. He was a child and he didn't know. He didn't understand. 

Maybe Harry understood that. Maybe that's why he was talking to him now. He put it behind them.

"I can imagine."

Harry tilted his head to the side. "Can you?"

"Well, it isn't exactly difficult to understand when you had a death eater as your father, Potter. I didn't exactly have a say in what I wanted to do either. He never gave a choice."

"You always have a choice," he said quietly.

 _No. No._ He was losing him. He could see that shining screen again. 

"Fuck," Draco cursed, slamming his bottle down on the table.

It took Harry a moment to acknowledge him, and by then Draco's hands were in trembling fists and his teeth were clenched tight enough to send sparks of pain along his jaw.

"We should go back to the living room." Harry stood up.

Draco followed him out of the kitchen and into the living room.

"Why are you here again?" Harry asked as they sat on the couch, Draco barely finding it, almost toppling down and crashing against the coffee table.

"I just wanted to...I didn't give you a chance last time. With  _them_. It made it seem like I didn't believe you, but frankly I don't know what I believe anymore."

"They came," Harry whispered. "After you left. They showed up right after you left. Pointed their wands at me."

"What happened?"

"I led them in the other direction. Didn't want them following you."

"Right." As if Draco could possibly understand why Potter had done that.

"I fell to the ground," Harry continued, his voice a gentle hush. "Banged my head, I think. Don't remember what happened after. Muggle must have found me. I was pushed to the other end of the alley, back against the wall. I don't know what they do to me. Look through my memories, alter them, steal them. Something else maybe. It just feels wrong. Like someone touched through my-"

"Potter."

"Hm?" 

Draco heard the sound of the other wizard's clothes rustle. He felt the couch dip. Felt a sliver of warmth as Harry sat closer to him.

"Malfoy," Harry said.

"Yes?"

"I can see you."

"I believe that's why you have eyes."

"But it's dark. I can see you, still. Like the way I did in the kitchen."

"Potter, in the kitchen you-"

"I gave you Muggle beer."

Draco frowned. "Yes, but...Never mind."

Harry hummed. Draco could feel it close to his ears. Closer than he thought. "Will you help me find them again?"

"Yes."

"Let's go." 


	11. Music

One time, Harry Potter thought he heard one of them speak.

It wasn't like the way people usually spoke.

No, this time was different. For several reasons.

One, their voices were in his head. He didn't hear it through his ears. He'd had to look at them, they practically forced him to look at them, and when he did, that's when he heard.

But they weren't actual voices. They were like instruments, a soft beat in the beginning. Calm, gentle, slowly building up. A crescendo. 

Slowly building up to a crashing sound of instruments playing together all at the same time, so that Harry couldn't possibly focus on just one particular device. It was all of them, in his head. 

It was all of them coursing through his body like a good song. It was a _good_ song. It weaved its way between his veins and around his ribs, between the discs that formed his spine and the bones that made up his fingers.

Then they escaped him all of a sudden, a final note struck, an outro of a song.

Silence.

That was always the worst part. When his body searched to find something to hear again but found nothing.

They were gone.


	12. Seven

"We're at the same place we were last week, Potter."

"Yes."

Draco gave him a second. "Yes, but last time they weren't here."

"They'll be here now."

"How are you sure?"

"Because you're going to walk away," he said, voice hushed as his eyes traveled around the area. "There."

Harry pointed at a great apple tree. 

"Hide. You want me to hide."

Harry nodded.

"Fine," Draco muttered under his breath. "I'll just do what Potter says because that's what I always do. Oh, Father would be _so bloody proud_."

Harry smiled at him, as if he heard Draco's entire conversation...with himself.

So Draco walked away, up a small hill, where a giant apple tree stood on its lonesome. 

He carefully tucked himself behind the tree so he could barely see the point where Harry stood. Facing him. He could still see his lazy smile from all the way up there. 

Great.

Draco didn't know what to expect as he shuffled his feet to get more comfortable behind the tree. He just knew that Harry Potter, the great savior of the wizarding world was awkwardly standing in the middle of a Muggle street, looking for people who no one had seen but himself. 

He watched as Harry removed his glasses to swipe at the round lenses with the corner of his shirt. Watched as he put them back on. Watched as Harry ran his fingers through his hair. As he shifted his feet. As he stretched, revealing a sliver of his tan skin when he raised his arms. As he slowly started pacing.

He wondered what had happened, because over the years even Draco Malfoy knew not to believe every written word on the Prophet. He wondered if it happened over night, or if Potter gradually started losing the personal traits that made it easy for anyone to identify him. If he'd slowly started losing a small slice of his sanity or if he just woke up one day and started acting like a mad man.

Just then, when Draco was wondering when the fuck did Harry Potter start gaining muscles, he caught a movement from the corner of the street.

"Shit," he breathed as he leaned in closer.  _Salazar, they're real._

They were.

Tall figures dressed in black, head to toe, almost looking like dementors but for the hoods on their cloaks that revealed small portions of different shades of skin that looked particularly human.

They approached Harry, pulling out their wands. 

Draco noticed with a sickening jolt that Harry just stood there. Didn't bother pulling out his own wand to defend himself.

He cursed.

Why wasn't Potter doing anything?

They were closing in on him. There were two of them. Closing in on him like they wanted to corner him to the wall.

That's what must have kicked something into Harry's senses because his mouth was suddenly moving at a tremendous speed. Draco couldn't hear what he was saying but the lines between Harry's eyebrows were enough indication that his words were not pleasant.

They were backing away, slowly. Until they turned around and ran their way back.

As soon as they disappeared, Draco rushed towards Harry.

Who was leaning against the wall, chest moving sharply as he tried to catch his breath.

"I saw them," Draco blurted out as they came face to face. "They're real. I believe you."

Harry shook his head, face contorting with pain. "Side...side along-"

"Right."

Draco clasped his hand on Harry's shoulder and apparated them both to the back of Harry's apartment building. 

Harry still needed to catch his breath when they finally found their footing, so Draco helped him sit down, his back pressed against the wall, head tilted as he tried to breathe.

"You look like hell." Draco commented.

"Thanks, Malfoy."

Draco's stomach did a little jump. _He was back_. "No need to thank me, Potter."

Harry shook his head, massaging his temples. "We should go up."

They walked slowly up to Harry's apartment, Harry leaning heavily against the elevator wall as soon as they stepped into the elevator.

Harry pulled out his keys and opened his apartment door, instantly cursing as he shut the door behind them and quickly vanished the boards on his windows, light flooding back into the apartment. 

"Stupid," he muttered as he stared outside.

Draco was standing by the door, watching him. How he'd changed. It confused the hell out of Draco, but he didn't know what to do about it.

Perhaps pretend that it didn't impact him as much as it actually had.

Harry turned around and stared at him as soon as he saw him standing there. "Sorry you had to see that."

Draco shrugged.

"Another beer?"

"Maybe not." Draco sniffed. 

It was Harry's turn to shrug. "I'm having one anyway."

"Don't let me get in the way."

Harry gave him a funny look. "Of course not. You could follow me, though. If you'd like. The offer is still up."

"What offer?"

"Cooking?"

"Right, of course."

Draco followed Harry to the kitchen and watched him pop open another bottle of beer. "So what would you like to learn first?"

"What did _you_ learn first?" Draco asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You look just like you used to when you stand like that," Harry titled his bottle in Draco's direction.

Draco resisted the urge to stand up straighter. "Like a spoiled brat?"

Harry cracked a smile. "So you knew all along?"

"I had an idea."

Draco didn't know what to make of this. This joking around with Potter like they were old friends, just catching up.

"They taught me breakfast first. My aunt, I mean. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, you know the sort. We could start with that, or with something you would actually like to eat at this time."

Draco checked the clock on the wall. "Perhaps we'll do breakfast another time."

_Another time_. Hell, he made it sound so casual.

"All right. We'll start with something simple. How about a grilled cheese sandwich?"

"That's it?"

"It's a little too early for dinner, Malfoy."

Draco tsked. "All right."

Harry set his beer aside and pulled out the necessary equipment, instructing Draco to grab the slices of cheddar cheese from the fridge and the loaf of bread sitting on the round table.  

"First," Harry said as they laid out the ingredients and stood behind the stove. "Place the pan on the stove."

"No shit."

"Shut up."

Draco glared. Harry glared back. 

"Then I personally like to butter one side of the bread and place it on the pan." Harry did just that. "Then turn on the stove like this. Medium or low heat is probably best for now. It's not very different from Potions. I know you were good at that."

"You do?"

Harry glanced at him for a second before looking away. "It was hard not to notice."

Draco didn't know what to take from that. He said nothing and watched Harry carefully apply the rest of the instructions. 

"And you've got yourself a grilled cheese sandwich. Here, have a bite. You can try next."

\--

Long story short, Draco didn't do so well. Almost burning one side of the bread when Harry was too busy devouring his own sandwich to notice, and then forgetting to even turn on the heat the next time. 

Harry didn't mind. He only smiled at Draco and told him to try again until Draco finally produced the perfect grilled cheese sandwich. 

They took their sandwiches to the living room where they quietly ate and Draco realized that this felt normal.

This was okay.

This felt like it was always supposed to feel with Potter. Harry. Harry Potter.

They were friends, not sworn enemies. 

Friends.

He wanted to laugh. Wanted to shout and laugh and sing.

But he snuck a glance at Harry and the thought flew out of his mind. He couldn't. They weren't friends, not really. Not like this. 

Harry Potter's friends were heroes, they were brave, they were Ron Weasley and Hermoine Granger. 

Draco wasn't. Draco was the annoying, pretentious prat who pushed him around, pushed his friends around, used abhorrent slurs and wore a permanent sneer. He was condescending and big headed.

Harry caught his gaze and then slowly turned back to his plate.

At least he  _was_ those things. Used to be.

Now he wasn't so sure.


	13. Eight

The owlery was busy on that particular Saturday morning.

Pansy quickly explained to a panicking Draco as he stepped into the crowded area, that it was the first weekend before the start of a new year at Hogwarts. Which was why, Draco noticed, that a lot of the wizards and witches were accompanied by adults while others were in groups of friends.

He thought of his own school friends as he pulled on his apron and tied the strings back. Of how they'd flocked around Draco wherever they went. It was, he admitted, nice to be surrounded by people sometimes.

He wondered if Harry Potter ever felt lonely, leaving his friends and loved ones behind. Or if he had means to fill up that empty void.

Draco knew  _he_ did. Of the way he first did when everything had gone to shite and he felt so bitterly alone. How it was first the borderline addiction to alcohol, then the faceless people he took to bed, then finally, a job. One he hated but enjoyed sometimes.

Except at times like this when there were  _children_ and-and sodding  _teenagers_ everywhere. 

He didn't know what was worse at that point. The people or the owls. 

He was having a debate about it when a familiar face emerged from the crowd and stood on the other side of the counter.

"Malfoy."

"Weasley." 

The tolerable one, he thought as he nodded at Ginny Weasley. 

Well, partially tolerable, as he remembered her and Harry. Together. The mental image of it alone almost made him gag.

The red head looked at him expectedly.

"Yes?" he asked.

She looked uncomfortable, looking like she'd rather be anywhere but in his presence. "Mum sent me for a new owl. Said she needs another now that...well, never mind the reason."

He raised an eyebrow.

Ginny's cheeks turned pink but her expression was still as stiff as one of Lucius Malfoy's old cloaks.

"Which type are you looking for?"

"Barn. Had my eye on that one," she said, pointing at an owl that was on one of the highest shelves.

Draco used his wand to levitate it down, holding the cage by the handle before placing it on the counter. He found the key that went with it and slid it towards Ginny.

"Thanks." She placed the money on the counter.

Then she stood there, looking around.

"Anything else?" Malfoy asked impatiently as someone else stepped behind the long waiting line.

"I was just," she paused. "Have you, by any chance, seen Harry?"

Draco held his breath. "No."

"Oh, I just thought..."

"What?"

"You know, with him being..."

Draco frowned. "With him being what?"

Ginny's face was starting to resemble the color of her fiery hair. "Y'know."

"But I don't," Draco bit.

"Oh, you don't. Never mind then."

"Weasley..."Draco's tone was threatening. 

"Why do you care?"

He looked at her, displaying a look of impatience. 

"Sorry," she said quickly. "Just that I thought you were...bent, too."

Draco's throat constricted.

He'd seen that on the papers. Just assumed that...that it wasn't real. Those things were never real.

"That's why you cheated on him."

Ginny looked away. "You didn't know."

"You cheated on Potter."

She glared at him. "I'm not happy about it. Can't say the same about you, though. You're practically glowing, Malfoy. Everything that he did for you, you'd think you'd be thankful."

He didn't focus on that. Not when he'd just realized what she said earlier. "You thought I was bent, too?"

She winced. "I just  _thought_."

"Why?"

"You just. I mean, look at you. I  _dated_ Harry. I know his sort now."

"His  _sort_." Draco scoffed, shaking his head. "You should leave."

"Right. Yeah. Let us know if you see him."

_Us._

Ginny Weasley grabbed the owl and pushed through the crowd. He watched as the door swung shut behind her.

He worked through the rest of the customers, wondering if everybody knew. This whole time. Everybody knew. 

Did Pansy know? She probably did.

Not just that Harry Potter liked it up his arse, but that Draco  _looked_ like he did, too.

A Malfoy. 

His father would have shun him. Struck a line through his name on the Malfoy family tree. 

_Harry Potter. Gay._

Draco pretended not to care about it though. He  _didn't_ care about it. It was just another fact about Potter. Nothing particularly interesting. 

Just that...he wondered if Potter had been with men before.

Images of Harry, stark naked, flashed in his head. Of him bending over a flat surface as another man thrust into him. Of him sprawled across bed sheets, fists clenched around the tainted material. Of him sitting on top of somebody else, back arched as he lifted himself up and then down repeatedly. 

Or perhaps he was the one pulling at another man's hair as his hips collided with the other's.  _Him_ watching another man riding his cock. 

Draco was flushing when he finally came to his senses. 

Disgusting, he thought. Potter naked was disgusting. Potter having sex was disgusting. Potter's sweaty body, wet hair, jerking movements were disgusting. 

Draco's heart rate eased.

That's right.  _Disgusting_.

\--

Draco flipped the 'open' sign over to 'closed' with a sigh of relief. He made sure Pansy was at the backroom before he allowed himself a stretch and a cracking of his fingers.

Scanning the shop, he felt a surge of pride and satisfaction. Draco always took pleasure in a productive day.

He was just about ready to leave when Pansy called out to him. He followed her voice to the backroom.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She scowled. "Why should anything be wrong?"

Draco shrugged. "It usually is."

"This time it isn't," she rolled her eyes. "I saw you with the Weasel girl."

"Ah. That."

She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Care to elaborate?"

"She came to buy an owl."

"How peculiar." Her voiced oozed irritation. "Although I was wondering why it took so longer for her to pay."

"It wasn't...She asked me about Potter."

"Potter?" this time Pansy looked surprised.

"Well, you know. How they think he's missing."

"Right, I saw that in the papers."

Draco hesitated. "Did you tell anyone? That we saw him?"

"I'm not an idiot, Draco."

"Just wondering," he trailed off. "Told her I haven't seen him."

"Why would she think you know where he is?" she snorted.

Draco glared down at his shoes. He'd just shined them that morning. Took him ages until he got them squeaky clean.

"She thinks I'm 'of his sort'. Whatever that means."

She stared at him. Then looked away. Then looked at him again.

"What?" he demanded.

"You _have_ read the Prophet lately, haven't you?"

"Yes, but they're all lies, Pans."

"Don't call me that. And some things aren't lies. Potter is...he's gay."

"And?" he straightened up.

"Well...You are, too. Aren't you?"

"Why the _fuck_ do people think I'm gay?"

She perked up. "Someone else said it, too?"

"The fucking Weasel girl."

Pansy grinned something sinister. "Draco, it's just the way that you carry yourself."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?"

"Just...You know."

"No," he snapped. "I don't. I'm a Malfoy, we fuck women."

She rolled her eyes again. "Do you _like_ fucking women?"

"Yes!"

"Really?"

"I'm pretty certain I know what I like and what I don't, Parkinson."

She waved a hand his way. "Sod off. You're in denial. Go on and be in denial elsewhere."

"I'm not-"

_Slam._

The door shut inches away from Draco's nose.

He glared at the door before turning on his heels sharply and walking out of the store.

 _What-fucking-ever._  


	14. Nine

Draco's shift started a little later than usual.

Harry Potter, unaware of this fact, arrived at the owlery the following day just as the store opened.

Pansy was there, sorting through the desk at the front. She barely glanced up and everything she held in her hand fell to the register with a clatter.

"Potter."

He nodded, eyes too busy wandering around to come up with a better response.

Pansy thought of her conversation with Malfoy last night. She was going to keep Potter's appearance a secret, but she had to fight against every instinct she had to do so.

"Where's Malfoy?" he asked, green eyes finally fixed on her.

"He doesn't start until twelve."

Potter seemed pleased, though nothing on his face could reveal the feeling. "Tell him to meet me at my flat."

Pansy was bursting with curiosity, but had to keep it bottled in as she agreed.

She was the only one who knew where Draco lived. She wondered why that was so as Harry took his exit. Why he hasn't shown Potter his home yet.

She flooed Draco, who was casually lounging on his couch with a potions book in his hand when her head popped out of his fire place.

He set the book aside. "What's wrong?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Again with that question. Nothing is wrong. Potter wants you at his place."

"He came by the store?"

"Yes. I suggest you hurry. He looked quite pleased to know that you're free. Do you reckon he has something planned or-?"

"Shut it, Parkinson."

She grinned. "Have fun, Draco."

He muttered under his breath and the image of her face disappeared with a crackle.

\--  
Harry opened the door and then held it open for Draco to step in.

How many times had Draco been there, again? He couldn't remember. He'd lost count of how many times he'd stepped into _Potter's_ home.

How ridiculous.

"I was thinking I'd help with breakfast. Have you had anything to eat yet?"

Draco shook his head. "Just a cup of tea."

"So we can skip on brewing tea."

Draco followed Harry to the kitchen awkwardly. "Actually, it was a bottled ice tea."

Harry stared at him. "No."

"Yes."

"Blimey, you're terrible at this."

Draco glared. "Thanks, was wishing you'd rub it in."

Harry raised an eyebrow, amused.

It wasn't supposed to sound like that. Draco's glare intensified. _It wasn't._

He wished he hadn't said a word, actually. Because now his thoughts were back on Harry Potter naked. Harry Potter fucking a man. Harry Potter's head thrown back as-

"You all right there?"

"No," Draco replied furiously. "We're standing in the same room."

Harry cracked a smile.

He was smiling. At Draco. At something Draco had said.

"Some parts of people never change, you know?"

"Whatever you say, Potter."

Harry held his hands up. "I'm just here to help. You could leave if you don't want to. Pick this up another time."

No, Draco thought. Because this was the okay Potter, who knows when he'll show up again.

"No," he said. "Now is good."

"Now is good," Harry repeated, the corners of his lips twitching. "Let's get started on tea."

Harry Potter was good with brewing tea. Excellent at it. He let Draco have a sip from his cup and the warm liquid traveled all the way down to Draco's toes.

When it was his turn, Harry told him to pretend that the pot was a cauldron, just like Potions.

"Because I was good at that," Draco said, referring to Harry's words from last time.

"Are you going to make me regret saying that?"

Draco glanced away from the stove to Harry's glittering green eyes. "What fun would it be otherwise?"

Harry smiled.

In ten minutes, Draco brewed a cup of tea almost identical to Harry's. They both downed their drinks before Harry moved on.

"Eggs?" he called from the fridge, bending down- _again_ -to look through the drawers at the bottom.

Draco looked away, just as he did the other time. "Is that all you have, Potter?"

Harry glanced at him but Draco was too busy looking away. He missed the way Potter's eyes lingered on his leaning form. "'Fraid so."

"Typical."

"At least I can cook."

"Congratulations, Potter. You are so much better than everyone else in the world. So bloody brilliant. So-"

"Shut up."

Draco finally looked at Harry. Harry's body crouching on the kitchen floor to gather ingredients. Harry's back bent, arms somewhere inside the fridge, brows scrunched with effort.

To help Draco cook.

Ridiculous. Pansy would be screeching with laughter if he told her.

Then again, Pansy thought he was bent.

Draco thought about it, then just as quickly banished the thought.

He wished he could actually banish the thought. With his wand, right at that moment, because Harry had finally found what he wanted from his fridge and was slowly rising to his feet, straightening up, clothes wrinkled, hair a mess, hands full with food.

"We're making an omelet," he announced.

They did just that.

With the exception of Draco's. It didn't resemble an omelet. They didn't know what it looked like, but after taste testing they came to the conclusion that it didn't matter because perhaps it didn't look as good as Harry's, but it tasted twice as good.

So good that Draco declared that was the reason why Harry kept leaning towards him to steal forkfuls of the stuff. His side pressing against Draco's. The skin on their hands touching briefly every time both of them went in for a bite at the same time.

It happened so frequently that Draco just snapped.

"Eat from your own food, Potter."

"But your eggs taste better."

"Yes, but they're just that, Potter. _My_ eggs."

Harry scowled. "I taught you how to make them."

"And I made it all right. Better than you thought."

Harry's eyes narrowed but he finally turned to his own plate, finishing breakfast without any more stealing from Draco's plate.

Except once.

But it was only once, and Draco let it slide when he felt Harry's leg skim his as he leaned over.

\--  
Potter got that far away look after Draco carried his plate to the sink. He'd turned around, and Harry was gone. Replaced by that shell.

He wondered what had triggered it. That sudden flip.

Dread piled up in his stomach as he thought about it. It must have been something Draco had said or done.

He wished he knew what it was. How to flip him back.

"I should leave," he blurted out, leaning against the sink.

Harry's eyes lazily swiveled over to him. "Now?"

"Yes," Draco glanced at the clock. "My shift is in a few minutes."

It wasn't. Draco had lied, but he needed out. He hated it when Potter turned into this, this lifeless version of himself.

He didn't want to hear about them. He'd seen them, Draco thought suddenly. He'd seen them.

It was probably why Harry didn't want him to leave.

He wanted to talk about it.

Draco wanted to discuss it too. How they existed, why they existed. Who were they? Why were they targeting Potter?

"Okay," was Harry's response.

Neither of them moved.

"Okay," Draco repeated. "Thanks for breakfast."

Harry didn't respond, so Draco left. He left the kitchen, walked through the messy living room, and shut Harry's apartment door behind him.

Then he stood there in the corridor, mind wandering elsewhere, different images forming in his head, all of them about Harry Potter.

He was just thinking about Potter making breakfast for another man when a Muggle walked by and Draco was jeered to his senses.

He waited until it was clear, then he apparated back to his own apartment.


	15. Expensive

That's the kind of person he was back at Hogwarts.

Rich.

Merlin, he wasn't  _just_ rich. He was a Malfoy, he was more than just rich.

Rich was being able to afford a few cars, maybe a three floored house, and still have a shit ton of cash left.

The Malfoys were expensive. They were sleek, gelled back hair that shined even in dim lighting. They were a million galleon suits and matching shoes. They were mansions just casually perked in the middle of a forest.

He used to wear gold watches that weighed down his wrist, shirts that never seemed to wrinkle or lose their fresh glow, and a hundred pairs of dragon skin boots, some he only wear once or twice. 

Except...except that time he wore one pair of ankle high boots and he never took them off after. Always wore the same ones, over and over. 

Perhaps he never changed out of them at all. Perhaps he  _still_ wore them. 

It was their last year at Hogwarts. He barely saw him after. 

Malfoy could still be wearing the same pair of shoes.


	16. Ten

Harry Potter finally found Draco's apartment. 

It wasn't supposed to happen.

Not intentionally, anyway. 

Harry potter never went anywhere. It was always his apartment, the owlery, and the streets in between. Sometimes he felt a streak of adventure and wandered off farther. 

One day, he thought, well, he thought it was quite boring frankly. 

He thought Draco wouldn't mind. He thought Draco would understand. 

So he followed him home after one of his shifts at the store. He walked behind him in stealth, found the perfect view of every step Draco took, and he followed.

He observed the way Draco's shoulders remained taught, back straight and perfectly poised as always. How his long legs walked in purposeful strides, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his slacks. 

Draco always dressed professionally. Always. 

He watched as Draco ran his fingers through his hair, straightened the cuffs on his sleeves. Then loosened them. Just to straighten them again. He saw Draco's long, pale fingers reach up and loosen up his collar, popped a few buttons.

He looked so relaxed that it didn't even feel like he was following Malfoy anymore. He was just following who looked just like him.

\--  
"What the fuck, Potter."

Draco was not amused. He was not all right. He was quite pissed actually. 

"I," Potter rubbed the back of his neck as he looked down. "I followed you from work."

"Why the fuck would you do that?"

Potter's voice sounded muffled. "I wanted to know where you lived."

"Why?"

"I...I don't know. I just. Look, I was just bored, that's all."

"Most people resort back to their hobbies when that happens, Potter. They don't follow people around."

Potter lost his moment of embarrassment and glared up at Draco. "I think we all know I'm not exactly like most people."

Draco sighed, leaning against his door frame. "Potter, I'm absolutely knackered. What do you want?"

Potter's eyes were hooded when Draco finally looked at him. He was staring at Draco. He wasn't exactly discreet about it either. 

Draco was wearing a loose sweater and matching sweatpants that fell dangerously low on his hipbones. 

Perhaps that was why Potter was staring. Draco's clothes were old and worn out. Potter was probably just surprised. 

He probably thought Draco even lounged in a suit. The idiotic git. 

"Potter, you're staring."

Potter's tongue darted out as he quickly looked away. "Right. Sorry. I should go."

"You came all the way here and you're just going to leave?" Draco didn't know what he was doing. The words just tumbled past his lips without permission. 

"Yes."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Come in."

"In?"

"Yes. Potter. My flat? You might as well take a look. I've already been to yours."

"Multiple times," Harry tacked on, finally meeting Draco's eyes.

Draco clenched his jaw. "You asked me there."

"I know. I'm not- never mind."

Draco stepped away from the door way and pushed the door open the rest of the way by leaning against it. 

Potter watched. 

Draco was afraid Potter would never stop staring at him and that was a worrying thought. 

Finally, Potter did look away. His brilliant green eyes washed over the apartment's interior. 

There was a reason why Draco wasn't so reluctant about letting Potter into his apartment. His apartment was inexplicably immaculate. Even Pansy thought so, and Pansy never thought anything was perfect unless it belonged to her.

"Blimey, Draco," Harry breathed out as he turned back to Draco. 

Draco who had one hand in his pocket while he pretended to clean the nails on his other fingers. 

"I had you come over to my dump while...Did you set this up yourself?"

"With a little bit of magic."

"Are those..." Potter was walking towards his mantelpiece. 

Draco had propped up a few of his mother's vases up there when he first moved in. Back then, they were one of the few furniture pieces he owned. 

"Mother's," Draco said.

"They're beautiful."

"They're just vases," but Draco was secretly preening. 

He was practically bursting with pride. They weren't _just_ vases. They were antique, Chinese vases designed with red and green dragons with colors that still looked incredibly bright thanks to a spell his mother had taught him after she handed them to him. The dragons moved sometimes, if you brushed your fingers against them right, and that's what Draco did.

He'd joined Harry by the fireplace and when he touched one of the vases, Harry sucked in an audible breath. The dragons curled around the vase, bodies twisting and wrapping around each other like some sort of dragon dance.

Draco sneaked a glance at Potter and felt his chest swell at the twinkled awe in his eyes. 

"They're not just vases, They're incredible, Malfoy."

He finally turned to him, and their eyes clashed. A wave of green against a gray wall. 

Maybe that's why they never got along together. Perhaps when two eye colors were so different in contrast, their owners automatically opposed one another. 

Draco changed his line of vision. 

He walked away, to the kitchen. 

Potter followed him a moment later.

"I was trying to make dinner," Draco said behind the fridge, "when you interrupted."

He sneaked a glance at Potter just to see his cheeks flush. 

He smiled to himself before bending to pick something up from his fridge. It was his turn now.

"What are you making?" Potter asked, leaning against Draco's counter. 

Draco tried telling himself he wasn't trying to commit the image to memory. 

"I hadn't decided. But now that you're here I was thinking, well..."

"I'll help."

"Good, I'm starving. For something more than just a cheese grilled sandwich."

Potter's lips settled in a casual smile. "Do you have anything for that in your fridge?"

"No."

"What were you looking in for, then?"

Draco held up the block of cheddar cheese. "This."

"Ah," Potter's eyes were too green. Way too green. "You leave cheese in the bottom of your fridge?"

He'd caught him. Potter had caught him. 

Draco prayed his cheeks weren't red. He refused to blush. Malfoys don't fucking blush.

"It fell," he replied flatly.

"Of course." Potter finally pushed off from the counter and neared the fridge.

Draco watched as Potter examined his fridge.

"There's barely anything in here, Malfoy."

"Yes. Well-"

"Relax," Potter chuckled. "I'll summon something."  
\--

"There's white wine. Or champagne. Perhaps vodka?"

"Do you have something that wouldn't be found at a ministry gala, Malfoy?"

Draco turned to Potter and sneered. "We're at my flat, Potter. I choose the drinks."

Potter stood from his seat and walked towards him. "Do you?"

Malfoy didn't know why Potter was acting like this. Asking him those questions. Looking at him like...that.

"No, actually," Draco corrected him. "Technically I should be asking you but considering the previous times we drank together, I think we need to refine your taste."

They'd just finished their platefuls of white sauce, spinach stuffed ravioli Potter taught him how to prepare. It really was mostly like potions. Draco's skills were already improving.

Even Potter said so.

"You're just picky, Malfoy."

"It's not my fault I know my liquor."

"No," Potter's hand was reaching behind him, stretching towards the tray of bottles and glasses behind Draco. Draco who was leaning against the table that held the tray, who tried his best not to breathe in Potter's scent, standing that close to him. It was almost impossible. "It isn't."

Potter's hand held out a bottle of firewhisky. "How's this?"

"It can work," Draco said, impressed that he could come up with a response at all. 

Potter turned around, walking back to Draco's couch, facing the unlit fireplace. 

Draco followed after a second.

"You didn't bring a glass with you," Draco noticed.

"You didn't either."

Draco looked down. He hadn't.

They had to share the bottle since both of them were too lazy to get up. They passed it back and forth between one another until they'd emptied it. 

Potter had the last swig, using the back of his arm to wipe at his mouth. 

If Draco thought Potter's eyes were glowing before, then they were blazing now. They were all the lightbulbs in his apartment combined, they were the streetlights down his block, the entire power unit of the city.

Draco's heart was pounding. 

Harry's hair was more of a mess than usual. Draco noticed that happened when Potter was really drunk. Really, really drunk. Like he was right then. 

Not when he was slightly buzzed with his Muggle beer.

No. Drunk. Completely, utterly drunk.

His hair was like a representation of the heap of mess they both were. 

A massive mess.

Draco figured he probably didn't look any better.

"I should go," Potter said. 

Draco was slouched on his couch, aware of the way his sweater had bunched up somewhere above his belly button. 

"Can you apparate like that?"

"I can apparate however I like." Potter stood up.

Too fast, perhaps, since he instantly fell back against the couch, the side of his arms brushing against Draco's.

They were warm all over. The both of them. Radiating heat that was surely going to burn up the place eventually. 

If neither of them did anything about it.

"Clearly not," Draco said. The words felt funny in his mouth, his tongue heavy. He smiled. 

"Why are you smiling?"

"Just because."

Potter frowned.

"You're no fun," Draco said. 

"I'm not? Ron always said he preferred me drunk off my ass."

Draco couldn't get rid of the image of Potter's ass. Not that he'd seen it naked. Just his ass in Muggle jeans. "Maybe that was before."

"It was."

"I was right."

"Are you usually?"

"No. Pansy says I make the worst decisions."

Potter nodded. "Parkinson reminds me of Hermione sometimes."

Draco laughed. "Don't let her hear you say that."

"What do you think?"

"I guess they are similar in some ways. Pansy would be rolling her eyes at us if she were here. Probably bring out another bottle. Granger...I think Granger would just apparate you home. She would look disgusted about it, too. She wouldn't want to be in my presence either."

Potter shook his head. "She wouldn't mind you. Not the you right now."

"The me right now?"

"Better." Potter's eyes were droopy.

Draco couldn't register the idea. He just stared off towards his dragon vases. 

There was a nagging feeling at the back of his head. An alarm. Something going off. Something about Harry Potter and the way that his eyes fell shut. Harry Potter sleeping on his couch, in his apartment.

Draco was too drunk. Too tired to think about it. 

So he didn't. He fell asleep like that, too.


	17. Eleven

Potter was still asleep when Draco woke up on his couch. 

His body ached something wicked, which didn't come out as much of a surprise considering the position he was sleeping in. 

He was half lying on the couch while his other half spilled out. His arm was stuck underneath him and one of his feet was buried underneath Potter's thigh. 

Potter, whose hair could no have grown messier. Potter, whose glasses were somewhere on the floor.

Potter, whose fingers gripped at the corner of Draco's shirt.

Draco peered down at the hand. 

Then he stood up so abruptly that Potter fell straight out of the couch and onto his living room floor. Perfectly sprawled out, his body defenseless and open just like that.

Then his hand twitched. He groaned. His emerald green eyes fluttered open, flitted around his surroundings, before landing on Draco.

He scrambled to his feet shortly after that, expertly scooping up his glasses along the way.

They stared at one another, unblinking. Waiting for someone to make the first move.

"I should go." Potter beat him to it. "What time is it?"

"A little after six."

Potter cursed, running his fingers through his hair as if that would tame it down. "Right. I really should leave."

"You should."

"Yes." Potter was looking for his shoe. 

"Over there," Draco pointed at the shoe, half hidden beneath a fallen throw cushion.

"Sorry about that," Potter said as he finally gathered all his belongings. "I shouldn't have...drank too much. I can be a terrible drunk."

"I see that."

Potter nodded, looking away. "Sorry I wrecked your flat. I...It's nice. What you did with it."

Draco was watching him. Couldn't understand why Potter was still in his apartment, in his home.

They were still standing there, facing each other. 

"Makes me want to clean up a bit at mine." Potter gave an awkward, half-hearted laugh.

"Will you?"

Potter glanced up at him. "What?"

"Clean up?"

"Oh," Potter frowned. "Probably not. You know how it is. Well, actually, you probably don't considering. Yes. Considering that. Considering that you-"

"Do you want to stay for breakfast?"

"I- what?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Breakfast? I reckon I can make those omelets again."

Potter was staring at him through his round lenses. "Omelets. Yes. Yes, I'd love to stay."

He must've realized how eager he'd sounded because he quickly tried covering it up. "If you want me to."

"I wouldn't mind."

"You wouldn't? Right."

" _Right._ "

\--

"Potter stayed at your flat?"

Draco sent her a glare. "Could you be any louder?"

"Sorry," she hissed, "but I'm not actually sorry. The fuck is wrong with you, Draco? His friends are looking for him and you two are just casually having sleepovers?"

"That's not my business."

"They're  _worried_."

A customer glanced at them before quickly looking away.

Pansy pulled him further into the corner. 

"Since when do you care?" Draco asked her, wrenching his wrist away.

"I  _don't_."

"Really? Then this conversation is over."

"Draco," she held him in place. "You can't live like this."

"Live like what?"

Pansy was giving him that look again. Her eyes softened, pitiful, worried. 

"He'll go back to them eventually," she said. "Then he'll leave. You know that's how it's going to play out. He'll forget about this shop, the owls, his Muggle flat. You."

"So be it," he snapped. "I don't care."

She bit her lip. "But you  _do_."

Draco couldn't look at her anymore. He walked away from the corner and towards the first customer he saw. Then he turned on his charm and started it over again. That mask. Pretending. The charm.

"Do you breed them?" the customer asked. He was a young one, Draco guessed he was fresh out of Hogwarts.

"Not here. We have a farm somewhere and they send us in the good ones."

"The good ones?"

"The ones they know will sell well. Pretty, strong, not too stubborn."

The young man smiled a little at that. "Does that always work?"

Draco glanced at him briefly. "What do you mean?"

"Do they always bring in the good ones?"

"No," Draco said. He walked over to an owl a few cages down. "This one's a picky eater."

"So why send them over?" the man reached out and stroked the owl's feathers through the thin bars.

"She's brave. Confident, not too shy. Pretty, too. You can see from the colors of her feathers." 

"Barn owl."

"Yes." Draco peered at him again. "Are you interested?"

The man looked at him and the corner of his lips stretched upwards. "In you?"

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "In the owl."

"I am. In both."

Draco looked away, pulling out his wand to levitate the cage to the desk. 

"Do you already have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"So how about a drink?"

Draco spared him another glance and instantly wished he hadn't. The man was smiling softly, gazing at Draco like a curious cat. His eyes were a pale blue, hair a light shade of brown. 

"How about no."

The man laughed, but his cheeks flushed with the sting of rejection. Draco winced. He could have been nicer.

"All right," the man said. "Just as friends."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"I have work to do."

The man slid a few galleons onto the counter. "Suit yourself. It was just a question."

He carried the cage and walked out with a final smile, young and confident like.

Draco wondered why he hadn't said yes.

He wished he'd said yes.


	18. Twelve

Draco got his second chance the very next day. The young man was back, looking confident, young, and perfectly composed.

Just like the kind of person Draco had strived to be when he was that age.

"You're back," Draco tried his best to sound uninterested.

"Couldn't resist."

"The owls? You know bestiality isn't the kind of-"

"Go out with me."

Draco looked away. He had to look away. 

He busied his finger by sorting out the cash in the register. "Why should I?"

"Because I like you."

"You don't know me."

"I want to," he said. "I like what I see so far. I'm usually good at reading people."

"And the other times?"

He shrugged. "Only happened once before."

"What happned?"

The man rolled his eyes. "He wasn't exactly gay."

"Exactly?"

"Okay, so he had a girlfriend."

"He had a girlfriend and you thought it was okay to flirt with him?" Draco was more amused than anything.

The man rushed to continue. "It wasn't my fault. He kept sending me all those _signals_."

"Signals?"

The man glanced at him. "Well, you know. The touching, teasing, asking me out for drinks. I just thought he was faking it with his girlfriend. Ashamed of his sexuality or something."

"And?"

"I kissed him," he sated. "Then he pushed me away. Said he was  _engaged_. Bloody arsehole."

Draco bit back on a smile. "Amusing. Is that how your life goes on a regular basis?"

He shrugged. "Pretty much."

"I don't even know your name."

The man smiled. "It's Simon."

"Draco."

"I know." He pointed at his name tag.

"Right. How old are you?"

"Nineteen. Is this an interrogation?"

"It's called sharing basic information."

"Right, right. Does that mean you're agreeing?"

"You're very forward, you know that?"

"I get that a lot."

Draco hummed. "So is that the only reason you're here."

"Pretty much. That owl is a picky eater. Had her taste every food option I could think of. She really likes rat, unfortunately."

Draco grimaced. "Should have told you about that."

Simon waved him off. "No worries. When are you free?"

Draco checked the time. "Twenty minutes. You caught me at the perfect time."

Simon laughed. It was more like a chuckle. "So it  _is_ a yes."

"Yes." Draco looked away.

"You're sure you don't have a boyfriend?"

"Positive. Does it look like I do?"

Simon smiled again. "If you do I'd assume he's a horrible one. Since you don't then I think that's just you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you look tired. Lonely."

"I'm not."

Simon's eyes twinkled like the other night. That curious glint.

"Tell me, Draco." He leaned in, hands braced against the counter. "Do you kiss on first dates?"

Draco's eyes fell to Simon's lips. They were round and full, different than most lips he kissed. They seemed like the type of lips that belonged to girls. 

"Depends," he lowered his voice. "Do you want me to?"

Simon pulled away. "I guess we'll see."

\--

Draco wondered if Simon knew. 

Simon, who'd soon led him to a Muggle bar and ordered a few shots of vodka. 

He wondered if Simon, who was now talking animatedly about his job at Gringotts, knew of Draco's scars. Of his role in the war. 

He hadn't even brought it up with Potter, but Potter already knew. 

Draco washed his thoughts away with a swift swallow of his vodka shot.

"How did you get into owls?" Simon asked.

"A friend."

"So you weren't always interested?"

Draco shook his head. "I don't like owls very much."

"Then why work there?"

"Didn't have much choice."

Simon licked his lips. "Another drink?"

Draco nodded.

They drank for a bit longer, but Draco had already gotten drunk once that week and he wasn't ready to do it again so soon. 

"We could do something else," Simon said. 

"Like what?"

They were walking out of the bar now. Just on the border of tipsy and terribly drunk.

Simon looked at him from beneath his lashes. "My place?"

Draco's stomach seized.

"Not like that," Simon rushed. "I mean, unless you want to."

Draco looked away. He focused on the way he was inhaling the night air, the lights that glowed in the city. "I'm not sure."

"Then come for a drink."

"Another one?"

"At least let me walk you home."

"No, your place is closer."

Simon's shoulders relaxed and he shot him an easy smile. "Sounds good."

They walked down the streets in silence. Sometimes Draco noticed the way Simon snuck glanced his way, but he ignored it. He couldn't think about that now.

Right now he thought of the time he passed that building or that park with Potter. When they were out looking for those creatures. He was thinking about how he hadn't seen Potter all day.

Which was fine, it was normal. They didn't see each other everyday. 

He just thought that maybe he should try harder to help Potter. Since Potter helped him. Multiple times in the past, more times than Draco liked to admit. 

Simon stopped on the door to his apartment building. "This is me."

Draco looked up at the apartment. "Nice. Pretty view, I'm guessing."

Simon smiled. "Maybe you can drop by and see it sometime."

"Maybe."

"I...I had a great time."

"We barely did anything."

"But we talked," Simon took a step towards him. "I like talking to you."

Draco felt guilty. He barely remembered the things they'd talked about.

"Simon-"

"So will you kiss me? I really want you to."

Draco's eyes fell to his lips again. "I can't."

"Why not?" Simon's teeth sunk on to his lower lip. It wasn't helping and Draco knew he'd done that on purpose.

"I don't know you."

"You don't have to know me."

"How can you say that? You..."

Simon placed a hand on Draco's chest. "It's just a kiss."

"Just one?"

"One."

Simon leaned closer, eyes flickering up to Draco's just to make sure. 

Draco leaned the rest of the way, and their lips touched. They brushed, tentatively at first, but then feverishly. Hot, hungry, hurried. 

Draco's tongue was in Simon's mouth in a matter of seconds, he had him pinned to the wall, fingers creeping underneath his shirt. 

He pulled back.

"I'm sorry," he breathed.

"Don't-"

"No. I'm sorry I kissed you at all. I'm sorry I said yes. I can't do this."

"Why?"

"I just...I can't."

"Draco," Simon's hand brushed his hair back. "Do you like someone else?"

"No." It was an automatic response.

Simon probably detected it. "Are you sure?"

Draco hesitated. Then he shook his head. 

"It's okay," Simon said. "I understand."

"You do?"

"Tell him."

"I can't. He's...it'll never work out."

Simon shook his head. "You can never be sure."

Draco took a step back. "Thank you."

"I'm always here to help."

Draco walked away, slowly. Then he picked up his pace and he was running.

His legs were pumping, feet stinging, but he was running. 

His breaths were short, he was panting but he liked it. He liked the way the air burned in his chest, his muscles stinging.

It felt good to feel something else for a change. Something in his bones.

\--

"Potter."

He was waiting for him outside the store, right after his shift.

"Hullo."

"Is everything okay?"

Potter titled his head. "Not really."

Draco swallowed. "What's wrong?"

"They came by my flat last night. Said I needed to go back. What does that mean? Go back where?"

Draco was half listening.

He hadn't seen Potter since that morning he made omelets for breakfast after Potter woke up in  _his_ apartment. 

The first time he'd seen Potter since Simon.

He'd met up with Simon a few times after, they mainly just talked about owls and the trolls at Gringotts.

He tried avoiding any other personal topics. Like his "crush." He didn't like calling it that but Simon insisted.

"Are you going to help?" Potter asked.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Let's go to your flat first."

Potter apparated them there. 


	19. Thirteen

Potter was pacing his apartment, wearing lines across his wooden floorboards.

He looked like a mad man, or at least that's what Draco thought. 

Draco, who was straining to remain calm and composed as he leaned against Potter's living room wall, arms crossed against his chest.

"Did you see their faces?" he asked.

Potter shook his head, using his fingers to dig through his disheveled hair. "I need to get a haircut."

"Don't," Draco said before he even thought about it.

Potter glanced at him briefly before looking away, eyes wild again. "They looked familiar, but I can't-I can't pinpoint _where_.

"So they do have faces," Draco pushed off the wall. "You've learned something new. That's some improvement. Progress."

"Yes, but what can I do about it? They're still following me around."

"What did they say?"

"I told you. They said I had to get back. I don't know what they were talking about. I told them to go away, never come back. This is my home, you know? I deserve _some_ sort of safe haven." Potter shook his head, hair falling in his eyes. 

He hated that. His hair. Tugged it all the way back in a way that looked so painful, Draco winced.

He walked over to Potter. "Tie it back."

"What?"

"Your hair."

"Let's not talk about my hair when there are more pressing matters at hand, Malfoy. We all know how much you adore appearances but it's not the same for everyone. Not my number one priority."

Draco sneered. "It's not mine, either. It's frustrating you. Do something about it."

Potter scowled before marching through a door way.

Draco followed suit, watching Potter's muscles move underneath his thin, Muggle t-shirt. 

They were in Potter's room while Potter looked through his things, little trinkets and piles of junk, sifting through it and leaving an even bigger mess behind. 

He found what he was looking. A band of some sort, used it to tie a small portion of the front of his hair back.

He turned around, facing Draco.

Who only allowed himself a moment to memorize the way Potter's hair out of the way made his scar clearer, eyes greener, face features more prominent.

He wasn't sure if it made things more or less distracting at this point.

"Better?"

"Much."

Potter sighed, falling back against his bed, eyes shut. "I'm much better when you're around."

Draco wasn't sure he heard him correctly. "Say that again?"

"No."

Draco rolled his eyes and walked over to lean against Potter's bed, peering down at him. "Right. What now?"

"I'll focus on their faces better," Potter said.

"Okay."

Potter opened his eyes, looking at him. "Take out? I'm not in the mood for cooking."

"I have plans, actually."

"You do?" Potter frowned.

He did. With Simon. As a _friend_. Specifically as that, but plans nonetheless. 

"Yes. I have other friends, you know."

"I'm your friend?"

"Shut it, prat."

"Do you call your other friends that, too?"

Draco gave him a look. "No. You're special."

Potter smiled a dangerous smile, almost like a teasing smirk. It didn't settle with Draco's stomach. "Oh?" he propped himself on his elbows, tilting his head up to look at him better. "Special, how?"

"You're worse."

"Than your pureblood friends?"

"They're not all purebloods." At least Draco didn't think Simon was. Maybe. He wasn't sure. It wasn't a question he just casually tossed around.

"I'm shocked." He didn't look shocked, he looked amused. Like a prey ready to attack.

"And I should get going."

"What kind of plans?" Potter asked just as Draco leaned away.

"Dinner."

Potter's eyes twinkled. "Is it a date?"

Draco looked him in the eye. "What do you care?"

Potter stood up from his bed, walking over to him slowly. "I don't."

"Then why are you asking?"

"Just curious."

"Are you?"

Potter smiled. "Yes."

"Are _you_ dating?"

"No. So is it a date?"

"No."

Potter hummed, eyes trained on Draco's own eyes. "Then they wouldn't mind if your plans change, would they?"

Draco hated this. This close proximity. "Why would I?"

"I want you to."

"Why?"

"Because being around someone else makes me sane."

"You need more friends."

"Why?" Potter asked. "You don't mind. You like it. That I need you."

"You don't need me."

"Then why are you here?"

Why was he?

Because he was helping Potter, because Potter helped him. Potter helped his mother.

"You asked me to."

"So you just do whatever people ask you to do? That's interesting."

"How?"

Potter let a shoulder drop. "Doesn't sound like you."

"You barely know me." He hated that he'd already said something similar to someone else that week.

"I know you quite well, actually."

"Of course. You know everything."

"You said it."

"Potter, did you skip the class on sarcasm?"

Potter scoffed. "Maybe I was too busy doing something else."

Draco thought of Potter in class. He remembered Potter as a Hogwarts student, in his Gryffindor tie and his untidy cloaks and his scruffy shoes. 

"What?"

"Secret." Potter turned away and headed for the door so Draco could finally breathe normally again. "Coming?"

Draco followed him to the living room, dimly lit now that the sun had finally disappeared. 

"Chinese, again," he said, as if making sure Draco was okay with it. "Same dishes?"

"Don't mind."

"Right then."

Draco thought of Simon. If he would mind that Draco wasn't going to show up. 

The thought disappeared as he watched Potter lift his Muggle telephone and start speaking into the device, leaning against one of his walls, dressed so casually, hair slowly escaping its confines. 

He watched as Potter noticed him staring, shooting him a smile.

He wondered when Potter flipped. That switch that determined whether Potter was his normal self or...his other self.

Maybe he _was_ the reason the switch flipped.

Maybe Potter actually did need him.

Draco knew he was acting ridiculous, but he would deal with that later.

Right now he wanted to bask in that thought, that Potter needed him. He relished in the thought, as Potter put the phone down and went on about how much Muggle coins he needed and if Draco knew how much the prices had changed over the years, if Draco knew that it didn't matter since Potter loved Chinese food. He loved it.

Draco loved it, too.


	20. Stay

It was slow.

Like following a bird blindly, not knowing where it was headed. Not taking your eyes off the bird. 

Like pushing past people and not caring that it was rude, or passing by your friends without even a simple hello. 

Just to keep your eyes on the bird. Just the bird with pale feathers, yet striking shades of colors. New colors you've never seen before, never heard of before, never knew existed.

Following the bird until your legs ached and your feet were close to bleeding and your face was red from the wind violently nipping at your skin. 

The chase never seems to end as you wait for the bird to slow down, to stop.

When it does, to pause on a random branch from a random tree, you finally manage to catch your breath. Just to have it taken away from you all over again. 

Now you can see every feather in detail, every speck of color, every tick of its head, every second of every flutter of its wings.

Until it sets off again, but this time you don't have to follow. 

It takes a seat on your shoulder.

Or until it sets off again, faster, before you can breathe again, too slow for your human legs to catch up.

It escapes you, without a backward glance.


	21. Fourteen

"So who is he?"

"Who is who?"

"The guy that you like."

"You wouldn't know him."

Pansy scoffed. 

Draco shot her a glare. He shouldn't have done this. Shouldn't have invited them both for dinner. It was like asking for twice the trouble as usual.

Apparently, Simon was a Slytherin at Hogwarts, too.

Apparently, he'd heard of Draco (which saved him a lot from explaining the dark mark on his forearm and possibly everything that happened since he was eleven years old).

Pansy loved it.

"Yes, you really wouldn't."

Simon glanced at Draco. "Oh?"

Draco knew Pansy wouldn't spill. Pansy couldn't. This wouldn't be just about Draco, this would be about Potter. This would be about Potter's disappearance, the press, the papers, Potter's _adoring_ fans. 

The thought didn't help, though. His heart was still racing in fear. 

Draco wouldn't exactly describe Pansy as predictable. 

"You wouldn't," Draco said. "He's nobody."

Potter was nobody, Draco thought. He was. Just because he saved the wizarding world from its fatal downfall, did not mean he was anything.

"Except to Draco," Pansy added.

"Shut up."

Simon and Pansy shared a smile. 

"Are you seeing anyone?" Draco redirected the question to Simon.

"Not since my latest rejection."

Which was Draco.

"I didn't-"

Simon waved him off. With the hand that wasn't holding his glass of fizzy, ancient, Muggle champagne. "No bother. Really. I should have seen it coming. I mean, I had a feeling."

"You had a feeling?" Meanwhile, Pansy was still shoveling down the pasta she'd prepared. Since Potter's lesson weren't enough, not yet.

"He seemed...off. I thought it was because he was taken, but no. I was close enough."

"Yes," Pansy said. "Close."

"Pans, I swear-"

"I won't say anything, you dolt." Pansy finally dropped her fork. "I can keep secrets."

"Why _is_ he a secret if he's a nobody?"

Simon. Asking all the right questions again.

"Because," Pansy said, "he's Draco's nobody."

"That makes no sense."

"It does," Draco and Pansy said at the same time.

Simon rolled his eyes, leaning back quite casually on Draco's couch. He did that a lot lately, since they've been hanging around so much.

"I'll find out eventually. Won't I?"

"Merlin, I hope not," Draco groaned.

"Probably. Eventually." Pansy picked up her own glass of champagne. "Secrets come out eventually."

"Maybe there won't be anything left for it to come out."

"Oh shush, you'll snog him soon enough. Then he'll never let you out of his sight."

"I thought you were the realistic one."

Simon laughed. "If you kiss everyone the way you kissed me, it would be hard for him to let you go."

"You did," Draco blurted out.

Pansy shook her head. "Do I have to leave?"

"No," Draco said, firmly, eyeing Simon closely.

Simon didn't make a move. His expression didn't even twitch.

"No," Simon repeated. "I was too slow."

Simon did that, sometimes. Draco hated him for it, yet he couldn't cut off the friendship that they had. Simon was just the kind of person Draco would have been friends with at Hogwarts. It meant something.

\--  
Harry Potter's apartment was a wreck.

"And this is all because you were on the Prophet?" Draco asked, using his shoe to nudge a torn up throw cushion. 

Potter's hair was also a wreck, a mess, an explosion.

Draco loved sneaking glances at it. Not that he'd ever say that out loud, though. 

Just, maybe to Pansy if she was drunk enough to listen and he was drunk enough to confess.

"Shut up, Malfoy. You wouldn't understand. They found me."

"Potter, who's they?"

"The reporters, who else?"

Right. Who else?

Draco clenched his fists. Then released the pressure on his fingers. At least he'd caught him when he was sane.

"Of course. Do they know where you live?"

"No, but Malfoy, they've been looking for me for months. I've hid for months."

"They were going to find you eventually."

"No." Potter shook his head. "I need to leave."

"What?" Draco's stomach turned.

"I need to move out, they'll come after me."

Draco watched him as he summoned his suitcase. 

He watched as Potter shrunk his belongings and packed them away. _Accio_ this, _Accio_ that.

Draco looked away, his mind racing. "Where will you go?"

Not far, not far, not far.

"As far away from here as possible."

Draco couldn't feel anything. _Good_.

It was good. This way Potter would get his way. 

As always.

He'd run away from his problems, but that was okay. He was Harry Potter. He could do what he wanted and it would be okay.

Potter's suitcase was packed and zipped up, he was levitating it towards the door.

"And all this?" Draco nodded towards the furniture.

"Another time."

'You know," Draco said. "You could just pretend to be someone else. Polyjuice. Every time you left the house so no one could find you. Or use that cloak of yours. Magic exists for a reason, Potter."

Potter shook his head. "I don't want to have to be someone else just to walk outside."

"You're Harry Potter," Draco said, "you signed up for this when you defeated Voldemort."

"I signed up for it when I was born."

Draco couldn't look at him.

"Sorry to have to cut down on cooking classes like this."

"Shut up, Potter."

"Right."

Maybe if Draco kissed him he would stay. Isn't that what Simon said?

"Hey, you're not so bad these days."

"Can't say the same about you, Potter. Ugly as always. Petty as always. Think you're the center of the universe as always."

"Is that what you think of me?"

No.

Draco allowed himself a peek.

"What do you think?"

Potter ran his fingers through his hair. "Does anyone ever know what you're really thinking, Malfoy?"

"No."

"Then I don't know what I think."

"It's either you agree or not. Pretty simple, Potter."

"No," Potter took a step towards him. "It's not. Not with you. Nothing...nothing ever is simple with you."

"What does that mean?"

"That means I don't know."

"Weak argument, Potter."

Potter's face was red now. "Fuck you, Malfoy. I was paying you a compliment."

"I never asked for it."

"You don't ask for compliments. That's why they are what they are, Malfoy."

Draco stared at him cooly, but inside his thoughts were a mess.

He didn't know, either.

"So what is it?" Potter demanded.

"What's what, Potter?"

Potter clenched his fists. "What do you think of me?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because I do!" he burst out. "I care!"

Draco loved this. Merlin, this was like Christmas presents all wrapped up under a tree.

"I think you're over reacting. You're impulsive. You're reckless-"

"Fine," Potter spat. "I get it."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Then unpack that suitcase."

Potter stared at him. "What?"

"Potter, you haven't even thought this through properly. Where would you go?"

Potter was blinking up at him like he'd just appeared out of thin air. "I-I was going to figure it out. Maybe ask someone to-"

"Yes, because you can just ask around for help. Why not? Everyone would say yes to Potter."

"What's your problem, Malfoy? You were fine just two seconds ago and now you're acting like a git all over again."

Draco didn't know. Draco was confused. This was the only way he knew how to react. He didn't know.

"Just do what you want, Potter." Draco moved to the door.

"No," Potter slammed a hand on his door. "Stop."

Draco stopped. 

"Stop," Potter said again. "Just stop."

"Your vocabulary is in dire need of improvement."

"I know," Potter said, softly. 

"I could recommend a few things to help."

Potter was staring at Draco's chest. His eyes didn't dare look up. Draco wanted him to. 

"Could you?"

"Yes."

"That would be very helpful."

"Oh, I can imagine it will be."

Potter's eyes finally met his. "Thank you."

Draco looked away, his head screaming how much of a coward he way but he couldn't. Just couldn't.

Simon was wrong. Pansy was wrong. He could convince Potter to stay in other ways.

Safer ways.


	22. Fifteen

It had been a week since Draco convinced Potter to stay.

Business at the store was dry. Which happened from time to time. Draco had only one customer all morning and it was near lunch time.

Naturally, Draco decided to pass time by surreptitiously reading a book. This time he'd chosen _Advanced Potions for the Not So Advanced Brewers._ It was a slow read at first, but Draco enjoyed anything related to Potions and this was right up his ally.

First, he'd made sure Pansy wasn't around. Then he grabbed the bag of caramelized pretzels she thought she was hiding from Draco under a secretly hidden drawer, sat behind the desk, and cracked open the book.

He was quite relaxed, actually. Quite enjoyed the seclusion, the quiet, the calmness but for the occasional flutter or hoot. 

Quite liked the Potter-less environment.

Which was why he wasn't much surprised when the latter fell through and Potter himself appeared at the door.

He was standing outside of it like he'd just seen it for the first time in his life. 

Draco was watching him watch him through the glass door, but he wasn't making it obvious.

He flipped a page of his book.

Then he took another pretzel from the bag.

The bell chimed and Potter stepped in.

Draco set the book aside and stood to his feet, vanishing the book and his snack.

"Potter."

"Malfoy."

Potter was wringing his fingers together, tying them in complicated knots before untying them just to tie them again, over and over.

"What is it this time?" 

"I was just wondering, if you wouldn't mind, that we...spend the day together."

"You and me?" Draco put on his best impression of Snape.

"Yes."

Bloody Gryffindor. 

"I have work to do."

"No body is here."

"Yes, I have eyes, Potter." 

Potter took more tentative steps towards the desk. "Can I stay here?"

"What?"

"Here. Can I stay? I'll be very quiet, and I won't get in the way." Potter's eyes were round.

"Why would you want to?"

"I'm bored." Potter shut his eyes and groaned. "I've spent hours and hours at home, I have nothing to do."

"But shouldn't you stay there? Just incase the reporters find you again?"

Not that Draco was interested. 

"I made sure to be extra careful this time." Potter tucked his curls into the cap on his head.

"Impressive."

Potter scowled. "I'll help you feed the owls."

"That's not the worst job."

"I did not sign up for this," he winced.

"Oh, but you did, Potter."

**

Draco watched as Potter reached into an owl cage. He'd lost count of how many he'd cleaned out, but had a feeling this might have been his millionth.

"So, uh, how's Parkinson?"

Potter was trying to make conversation. Draco couldn't stop smiling.

"She's great."

"Yeah?" Potter turned his face away from a literal pile of shit before vanishing it away. "That's good to hear."

Draco lifted his book and tried to resume his reading, but no matter how many times he'd read that first sentence, he couldn't move on to the next. He allowed his eyes to find Potter's form. Watched as Potter shuddered with disgust.

"You look awfully disturbed for someone who owns an owl."

"My owl doesn't shit in her cage."

"His cage."

"Right." Potter frowned.

It was the first time they'd brought up his owl while he was...himself. Draco was waiting for the switch now. Any second.

"Can't you cast a spell or a charm or something to make it disappear?" Potter asked.

"Can  _you_?"

"No."

"There's your answer."

Potter sighed, shutting the door shut to the cage he was working on. He was moving to the next one when Draco interrupted him.

"You can stop now."

"Oh." Potter turned to him, unsure of what to do next.

"I suggest you clean yourself. Preferably with a long shower. Or a bath. Maybe both."

Potter glared in his direction. "It's not like you don't do it."

"Oh, I do," Draco said, folding his arms along his chest. "Just without getting too close."

"What?"

Draco smirked, standing to his feat. "You are incredibly incompetent."

"Thank you, but do explain what the fuck you meant by your previous statement."

"I meant," Draco stepped towards him, "that you could do all of that without opening each cage individually."

Potter stared at him. "I hate you."

Draco beamed. "You don't mean that."

"I'm this close to meaning it."

"How close?"

Potter ducked his head and Draco wished he could see what face he was making. What he was thinking in that _empty_ head of his.

"Practically non-existent at this point."

"I doubt it."

Potter finally looked up, only to turn his head away towards the owls. "I think I should leave you to it then."

"To what?" 

"Your job, Malfoy? The one you wanted me to steer clear of just two minutes ago."

"My shift is over in a few minutes."

Potter was frowning."What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, you won't actually be 'leaving me to it'."

"Oh...Do you want to go somewhere else after?" Potter was staring at him, unsure of Draco's reaction.

Draco did a few last minute closing-up-the-store antics. "Where?"

"A pub?"

"Muggle," it was a statement.

Potter ran his fingers through his hair, cap abandoned on an empty seat. "You wouldn't want to be seen with me in public, would you?"

"No, the press would love it."

"What? Forget the press. I meant you. How would you feel?"

"This isn't a therapy session, Potter."

"I'm just curious."

"Don't be," Draco hung up his apron. "I wouldn't mind a Muggle beer right this minute."

Perplexed, the only thing Potter could do was hold out his hand.

Draco lowered his gaze to it before clasping his fingers around Potter's. 

"Ready?" Potter asked, slightly out of breath. He wouldn't stop looking at Draco.

"You don't have to ask, Potter."

"Good."

**

Draco looked around before taking a seat next to Potter's, who was conversing with the bar tender as if they'd met a million times before.

"What would you like?" Potter asked, turning to him.

"Vodka," because Draco had hesitated the moment Potter turned to him, and it was the first thing he could think of. "Actually. Surprise me."

Potter smiled. 

As if he just  _knew._

Drinks in hand, the two man were left with nothing to talk about. 

Draco was staring at his drink, grimly, wishing he was home in his apartment with his own drinks. Potter's choice wasn't bad but it was  _Potter's_.

Meanwhile, Potter was swirling his drink, his wrist movements oddly distracting.

"So." Potter cleared his throat. "How's the owlery?"

Draco finally took another sip of his drink. "It's fine. Was sort of slow today."

"Oh?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "We don't have to talk about my job, Potter."

"What would you like to talk about, then?"

 _You_ , Draco thought.  _Them._

"What would you?" 

Potter wasn't amused. "Malfoy."

"You should cast a _silencio_."

Potter did. "You could have done it yourself."

"True, but I wanted you to do it."

"Why?"

"My wand is in my back pocket."

Potter scrunched his nose. "Isn't that uncomfortable?"

Draco shrugged, bending over his drink by resting his elbows against the table. 

He could feel Potter's eyes wash over his body, the curve of his spine, his rolled up sleeves, the way his pants hitched up a few inches.

They drank a little more.

"How's your mother?"

Draco shrugged. 

"I haven't seen her since..."

Draco was too slow.

"Since the funeral," Potter continued.

Draco closed his eyes. 

When he opened them, Potter was staring down at his own drink, unsure of what to do with it, as if it had just appeared in his hands two seconds ago.

"She's all right."

"I'm-I'm still sorry about that. What happened to your father, I mean."

Draco turned his head away. "Wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't yours either," Potter said quietly.

"I know that."

"Really?"

"Yes," Draco snapped. "I don't need more of your pity. There was enough of that on the day."

"Malfoy, he committed suicide."

Draco glared. "I know that very well, Potter. Considering I was the one who fucking found him lying on the fucking ground like that."

Potter wouldn't look away. "No one said anything about that."

"Because I didn't tell anyone."

"Then who-?"

"My mother," Draco interrupted. He wasn't sure why he was telling Potter all of this. Perhaps to get the story straight for once. "She was right behind me so everyone thought that she saw him first."

"Do you know why he did it?"

"He'd gone mad, I think. From everything. Started talking crap about Voldemort like he still existed. Mother hated it, tried keeping me away from him but he wouldn't have it. I was his son."

"I'm sorry."

"He was an arsehole."

"He was your father," Potter took a long swig of his drink, throwing his head back, and Draco found himself staring at Potter's throat as if they weren't just talking about his father's death.

"Also a death eater and a coward."

"You were one, too," Potter added boldly. "People change."

Draco gave a bitter laugh. "Oh, I've _changed_?"

"I didn't mean it in that way-"

"What did you mean?" Draco made eye contact and could see Potter trying his best to maintain it.

"That you've changed in a good way."

"I don't need you to tell me anything."

"Right."

"Right," Draco repeated, always trying to have the final word. 

It pissed Potter off and he knew it.

Potter ground his teeth together. "So where is your mother staying now?"

"The manor."

Potter's shoulders relaxed a little. Draco wasn't sure why that happened, or where Potter had thought his mother was living. 

"That's nice. Must get lonely, though."

"I try to visit from time to time."

"That's nice."

"You said that already."

"I know."

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. If he did one more time, they would surely get stuck at the back of his head.

Potter checked the watch wrapped around his wrist. "It's getting pretty late."

"Yes," although Draco didn't know what time it was. 

"Do you want to apparate with me?"

"We're both a little tipsy for that."

"But not drunk."

Potter held out his hand for the second time that day.

Draco took it in his again, this time with little to no hesitation.


	23. Sixteen

Harry had flipped again and Draco still wasn't sure what had triggered it.

They were stirring a pot of tomato soup when it happened. Draco had turned around for one second (to grab the bag of salt from the top cabinet that Potter was too short to reach and too lazy to spell down to the counter) and the normal Potter was gone.

Replaced with the void, uncharacteristically soft version of himself.

He hated that sinking feeling he got when Potter just turned like that. Especially when he wasn't expecting it.

He never was.

Especially not when it hadn't happened for days. At least not around Draco.

"It's warm," Potter said, and Draco looked into his eyes and saw the sloppy smile on Potter's lips.

Gone. Just like that.

Draco never knew quite how to act when it happened. Just pretend it didn't? 

He usually thought that was right, yet he couldn't help produce an exasperated sigh.

Potter's smile only widened at that.

He was too relaxed now. Gone was the straight back and timid behavior. This Potter reminded him of drunk Potter. 

"Careful," Draco said before he could help himself. He grabbed the wooden spoon from Potter's weak hold. "You could burn yourself. Maybe take a seat over there."

Potter complied. He sat at the kitchen table and watched with a fist under his chin as Draco tried his best to cook the rest of the meal on his own.

He was sure this version of Potter would be more of a nuisance than help.

"They've stopped showing up since the Prophet," Potter said.

Draco glanced at Potter from over his shoulder, mid-stir. "Oh?"

"Yes. It's as if they know."

"Do you think they're connected?"

Potter hummed, playing with the curls at the front of his head. "Perhaps."

Draco turned back to the soup. "Would you like some soup?"

"Yes, please. It looks really good." Potter was standing beside him now, peering over his shoulder. 

Draco didn't point out the fact that it only smelt good because Potter was cooking it until his hand movements grew slack and now Draco had to take over.

He tried to ignore the prickling feeling that shot up his arm the closer Potter pressed against him. 

He tried to think of cooking as Potions. It was almost the same thing. He  _knew_ it was.

"Would you like to try it first?" he asked, scooping a little bit of the liquid out and gently moving it in Potter's direction.

Potter, still looking him in the eye, took the wooden spoon in his mouth. 

Draco's throat constricted.

Potter pulled back with a lick of his lips, blinking at Draco behind his obnoxiously large glasses. "It's good."

"Just good?"

Potter smiled. "It's delicious, Draco."

Draco didn't correct Potter, he was too busy trying to erase the knot in his stomach.

**

Potter was back just as they walked into the living room. 

"That soup was bland," he commented.

Draco's head shot up. "You..."

Potter was frowning, clasping his head in his hand. "Ouch."

"Are you okay?"

"Since when do you care?"

Draco bit his tongue for a moment. "Never did and never will, Potter."

"Good."

Draco looked away from Potter's confused expression, but he couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Listen, my head's acting funny. I'll need to lie down for a bit, so unless you like watching people sleep..."

"Does that happen often?" Draco asked.

"People watching me sleep?" Potter managed a smile. "No. But the headaches have happened a lot recently."

Draco observed Potter as he moved around his apartment. 

"So? Are you staying?"

"I don't have much else to do."

Potter was looking at him funny. "Do you know anything that could heal this?"

"I'm not a healer."

"And I don't want to see one. Or risk it with whatever spell that comes to mind."

"Then don't. I'll make you a cup of tea. You should lie down."

"You're making me a cup of tea?"

"That's what I said." Draco's tone was filled with irritation, but his heart was hammering at the looks Potter was sending his way.

"Okay," he said slowly, "I'll be in my room."

"All right."

Draco wandered back to the kitchen and let the water boil. Then he leaned against the counter and wondered what the fuck he was doing. 

Making tea for Potter. 

They weren't even friends.

Friends didn't call each other by their last names or argue over the simplest of things. 

Water done boiling, Draco poured the liquid into the first mug he found and dropped in a tea bag and a couple spoons of sugar.

He walked into Potter's room, slowly, half expecting to see him asleep already.

He wasn't.

Potter was standing facing his window, watching as a gentle breeze ruffled a few clothes hanging outside his neighbor's balcony.

"Do you think that counts as stalking?" he asked.

Potter turned around at the sound of his voice. "I wasn't stalking anyone."

"You were peering into their home."

Potter shook his head and in a few strides, reached Draco and grabbed the tea from his hand. Almost sloshing the scalding liquid over the rim.

"Careful," the word blurted out of Draco's mouth before he even thought about it.

Potter bit his lip. "Always am."

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down Draco's spine. Then he remembered the way Potter's mouth wrapped itself around the wooden spoon, eyes boring into his own.

He took a step back. 

Potter noticed the action in between trying to take a sip of tea and walking backwards to his bed. 

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Are you sure you have nothing to do?"

"I'm sure."

Silence.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Potter asked.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Honestly?"

Draco nodded.

"I want you to stop acting like we've just met."

"I'm not."

"Well, stop acting like you hate me. Or that I hate you. Or that we haven't just spent the majority of the day together."

"Fine," Draco spat out. He turned on heels.

"Malfoy, wait.. _shit_."

Draco turned and just barely caught the way the Potter's knee bumped against his cup of tea, splashing the brown liquid all over his sheets.

"Really, Potter?" Draco sighed, walking over to Potter, who was hissing as the tea bled through his pants.

Draco pulled out his wand and muttered a quick _scourgify_. 

"Thanks," Potter replied, he picked up the cup and set it aside.

"Does it hurt?"

Potter glanced up at him briefly. "Burns a little."

"I think I know a spell for that."

After a quick swish of his wand, Potter winced but then sunk back against his pillows in relief. "Thanks. Again."

"Don't."

Potter closed his eyes, and that's when Draco noticed that he was still half sitting on his bed. He made to get up, but Potter's hand shot out and clasped his arm.

"I'm not asleep yet."

Draco wet his lips carefully. "Would you like me to tuck you in?"

Potter snorted, eyelids flying open. "Would that be a problem?"

"I just made you tea. Voluntarily. "

"All right, then."

Draco hid a smile as Potter slid under his covers. Draco fluffed up the pillow and had Potter comfortably settled in.

"Now what?" Potter asked.

"A bedtime story."

Potter laughed, eyes twinkling. "Really?"

Draco's lips twitched ever so slightly. "Really."

"Okay," Potter rested his eyes again. Then he flung them open. "My headache's gone."

"Oh?"

He nodded. "I'd still like to hear the story."

"Perhaps another time. It's called a _bedtime_ story for a reason."

"Malfoy," Potter was close to whining. "I'm all tucked in. What should I do?"

"Get out."

"No."

"Do it."

"I'm all comfortable."

Draco rolled his eyes. "What do you do in bed?"

"Watch a movie."

"That's a Muggle thing, isn't it?"

"You've never seen a movie?"

"I don't think I have." 

Draco had actually seen too many movies to count, but he wasn't about to admit that ever since he heard of the television, Draco was hooked.

"We  _must_ watch a movie then."

"How?"

Potter picked up his wand and a TV appeared at the foot of his bed.

He looked at Draco. "Are you going to face me or the screen?"

Draco was tempted to respond with the former, but turned his head around.

"No," Potter said. "Here."

Draco's eyes landed on the spot Potter was referring to.

He swallowed harshly, then quietly climbed over Potter's body.

Potter, who stiffened slightly but shifted around so that Draco had enough space to slide in beside him.

Draco settled beneath the covers and relaxed at the feeling of Potter's warmth spreading towards him.

"Comfy?" Potter asked.

"Very."

He lifted his wand and the screen changed a few times before he set his wand aside.

"This should be good," Potter said.

"You better hope it is."

Potter scowled, but an hour later, when Draco shifted around under the covers to get comfortable and his leg gently grazed Potter's, neither of them moved away.


	24. Seventeen

Potter looked good and it was driving Draco insane. 

He was casually conversing with Pansy as they shared their lunch together when  _he_ dropped by.

He'd swung the door open to the store, tucked the same vibrantly red beanie he wore one of the first times he showed up into the back pocket of his low ridden Muggle jeans, and leaned against the counter.

Draco only noticed him coming in because he was sat facing the half-open door to the store. His eyes had caught the way Potter's elbows rested against the countertop, fingers laced together.

He stared at the hands until it clicked in his head and he quickly stood to his feet.

"What?" Pansy asked, mouth full of the red pasta she still had in her mouth.

"Potter's here."

She rolled her eyes, waving her hands at him to go. "I'll cover for you. Again."

"That won't be necessary." He tried to suppress the flush on his cheeks.

"Shut up. We'll see about that."

Draco glanced at her one more time, ran his fingers through his hair, and then left the back room.

He wished he hadn't walked out so quickly, because Potter instantly stepped away from the counter and Draco saw all of him.

He saw the dark curls that slightly covered his lightning scar, saw the protruding shape of his collarbones escape from the v-line of his worn out t-shirt, the nimble bones on his knuckles, and the hems of his underwear above the waist of his jeans.

He hoped Potter wouldn't turn around anytime soon. That would destroy him.

"Potter," he greeted just a moment after the green eyes met his.

"Hey."

Draco had to look away, so he chose to count the number of cages on the shelves.

"I, uh, stepped by to see if you wanted to have lunch."

Draco's eyes fell back to Potter. He didn't know which number he'd stopped at, for he was distracted when he counted. "Already did. With Pansy."

"Oh. Desert then?"

"I'm full."

Potter's hands found the pockets of his jeans, staring at his decaying shoes. "Right."

Draco glanced behind his back and Pansy shook her head at him.

"Actually," he said hurriedly. "I'm craving something sweet."

Potter's head shot up. "I can work with that."

They walked out of the store together.

"Shouldn't you be in disguise?" Draco asked, peeking a glance at Potter. He was limiting himself to one glance every ten minutes. 

He was, just for the record, failing spectacularly.

"Oh, thanks, I forgot." Potter pulled out his beanie and slid it on with a smile.

"Potter, anyone would still recognize you a mile away."

The smile fell away. "You think?"

"It's  _red_."

Potter brightened. "So it's just the color? It does cover up my scar, then."

Potter spelled the hat so it turned into a light shade of gray. 

It was just a coincidence.

"No, it still shows."

Potter stopped by a nearby store window and tried to pull the hat down even farther. 

"You're horrible at this, you know."

Potter pulled a face.

"And incredibly immature."

"Not all the time."

Draco bit his tongue. 

"This better?" Potter turned to him. "The reflection is off on this window."

Draco spied a few wide-eyed witches behind the glass. "I wonder why. And no, it's not any better."

Potter cursed, fingers yanking at the hat.

Before he could think twice, Draco reached out and covered the scar with the hat. It slid back up.

"No luck."

Potter was looking away, head ducked. "I should go."

Irritation sparked at the base of Draco's spine. "Where?"

"Home."

"You just got here."

"I can't...I need to go. Sorry."

"No," Draco grabbed his arm. "You're running away."

"I don't want them taking pictures of us together."

"Then Polyjuice, or we'll just go to some Muggle café."

Potter shook his arm away. "A Muggle café?"

Draco nodded. "I wouldn't mind."

He tucked his wand away for extra measures.

"First a Muggle pub and now a café?"

Draco almost rolled his eyes. "Get over it."

Potter smiled slowly. "Let's go, then."

**

The air was fresh and light, so Potter told the pretty waitress (who wouldn't stop playing with her hair) that they'd like a seat outside.

She led them to a table for two, where they took their seats and enjoyed the smell of freshly baked bread, pastries, and coffee.

Draco lifted the menu just as the waitress reluctantly left to tend to other customers. 

"Pretty," he commented.

"What?"

He nodded towards the waitress.

Potter's eyes followed before quickly landing back to Draco. "Oh, her?"

"Yes. Don't you think?"

Potter's cheeks flushed as he inconspicuously tried to avoid Draco's expectant gaze. "Uh, sure."

"Thought so."

"Well," Potter paused, and Draco almost grinned at Potter's reddening face. He was enjoying this. A lot.

"Well, it's just that I don't usually notice these things," he said.

"What _do_ you notice?"

Potter played with the hair at the back of his neck. "You really don't read the papers?"

Draco pretended to frown, just for show. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's...I just notice men. Mostly."

Draco bit his cheek as Potter's eyes slowly looked up. 

"You're not surprised?" he asked.

"No."

"Then why did you ask?"

Draco shrugged a shoulder. "I wanted to know how you would react. I knew you were gay for weeks, I think."

"And you didn't say anything?"

"What would I say? It doesn't really matter who you prefer to shag."

Potter's skin was now almost the same shade as the rose in the tiny vase between them. "Oh. Okay. Er, who do you prefer...to shag?"

Draco should have seen it coming. "None of your fucking business."

Potter glared. "That's not fair."

Draco gave a bitter laugh. "Why do you care who I have sex with?"

"I don't," Potter spat.

"Well, you asked. Which naturally means that you give a fuck."

Potter sighed, tugging at his beanie. "Fine. I care. You don't have to tell me, though. That's personal."

"Good."

They finally went back to looking through their menus in silence. 

The waiter came by and continued flirting, but always the oblivious git, Potter never reacted in the way she clearly wanted him to.

She brought their food quicker than either of them expected, flashing Potter another grin before disappearing. 

A series of numbers were scrawled across a napkin. 

Potter stared at it and his cheeks turned pink again. He cleared his throat and flipped the napkin over.

"So how's your mother?"

"Are you always going to bring up my mother whenever you run out of things to say?"

"It's easy to run out of things to say when I'm with you." Potter flushed again. "I mean-"

Draco smirked. "Right."

"Shutupyougit." Potter sunk his fork into the slice of chocolate cake he'd ordered. 

Then he moaned.

A sound that should not have traveled all the way down to Draco's groin, but it did. It ached.

"This is really good."

Draco only nodded. He didn't dare look into Potter's eyes when his pants suddenly felt too tight. 

He picked up his spoon and tried his ice cream. Then, without even thinking about it, he pulled out the spoon from his mouth just to swipe his tongue across the smooth surface.

Potter's knee jerked and hit the table. "Ow."

Draco smiled, finally looking up.

He considered it payback. 

"You should control your leg better."

Potter's eyes were fixed on Draco's lips, but he nodded almost as if he was in a trance. 

Draco wrapped his fingers around his mug of coffee and leaned back against his seat to watch Potter eat the rest of his cake.

"Can I have some of your ice-cream?" Potter smiled coyly. "I just think it would taste really good with my cake."

Draco slid his plate towards Potter with one finger, and pretended it did nothing to him when Potter's smile widened and he graciously scooped a great amount of it onto his own plate. 

“Why is it easy to run out of things to talk about when you’re with me?” Draco asked, enjoying the way the warmth from his mug spread through his fingers, and the smell of it as it evaded all his other senses.

Potter frowned, licking his fingers from where he’d somehow gotten ice-cream on. “Don’t you feel it, too? Like we’re both holding back.”

“So don’t.”

“Well, you would have to stop too for it to work.”

Draco focused his gaze on the Muggle couple beside them. Normal, loving, caring. Not ex-death eater, mortal enemies, and a selfless hero.

Potter sighed. “It’s not going to be easy, is it?”

“What?”

“You know what.”

Draco didn’t know, actually. He had no idea what Potter was talking about. “I don’t.”

“This,” Potter abandoned his half-eaten dessert to gesture between the two of them.

“What is ‘this’?”

“I don’t know.”

They both looked at each other at the same time.

“My place?” Potter asked, pulling out a few Muggle coins.

“All right.”

“We can make our own dessert. My aunt used to bake those incredible chocolate biscuits, you could die by simply taking a sniff of them.” Potter was using his hands to express his words and they were slowly beginning to distract Draco’s attention.

They found an empty, Muggle-free ally and apparated from there.  
**  
Potter slid the unbaked biscuits into the oven, then leaned against the counter and glanced at Draco. “You have chocolate on your cheek.”

Draco’s hand instantly shot up to swipe at his face. “Gone?”

Potter nodded. “This isn’t one of those moments where I reach over and lick it away myself.”

Draco’s heart jumped in his chest but he didn’t let it show as he pulled a disgusted face. “Why would you do that?”

Shrugging, Potter ran his fingers through his unruly hair. “Just something people do.”

“Gryffindors.”

“Will you ever stop acting like we’re still school boys?”

“Never, if it winds you up like this.”

Potter raised an eyebrow. “Until what?”

“You admit that Gryffindorks suck.”

Potter rolled his eyes, and walked over to his kitchen table to take a seat. “Gryffindorks suck.”

Draco smirked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Finally.”

“It doesn’t really count since I said Gryffin _dorks_ instead of-“

“Shut up.”

“Right.” Pottered played with his fingers as his hair fell forward, obscuring part of his forehead and his left eye from Draco’s vision. He wanted to push that hair back with a gut wrenching passion, so much that his fingers twitched.

He quickly curled them up into fists.

“How long does it take?” Draco asked. Just to keep his mouth busy from saying anything, or doing anything else.

He couldn’t even trust himself anymore.

“A few minutes. I usually just stare at the batch until the surface turns gold. “

“You’re not staring at it now.”

Potter looked up slowly, glanced at him once, and then turned his attention towards the oven. “We’re safe for now.”

_We’re._

Draco dragged his leaning form upright, and walked to the oven. He bent down to look through the glass window, feeling the heat radiate towards him. He carefully placed a hand over the glass and shivered as the warmth traveled through his body. Draco finally sat with his legs crossed underneath him, facing the oven.

“Cold?” Potter asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a hundred degrees out.”

Potter didn’t reply.

Draco was grateful for it, and continued marveling over the mechanics of the oven. He liked how Potter’s oven had orange glowing lightbulbs in them, how they cast a comfortable air to the oven. Something homey.

He was beginning to smell the biscuits now. Buttery, sweet, and he wondered if Potter would moan again. If he would take one bite of the biscuit and release that deep sound from the back of his throat. The kind that sent shivers down his spine, and something sharp and thrilling to his crotch.

He wanted it so bad that his heart thundered painfully in his chest.

Potter was a curse. He’d done something to Draco and now he couldn’t stop thinking about him like that. He made his legs weak, his fingers tremble, his breath run out, and his cock pulse and strain.

He was thankful for the way his slacks hung loose around his waist, although he wished he hadn’t shed his robe the moment he stepped into Potter’s apartment.

“Smells good,” Potter commented. Draco could see him from the reflection of the glass as he walked near him. “Can you see the gold I told you about?”

“Yes.” Draco shifted around to cover his erection. “It is only present on the ones in the back row.”

“That’s where the heat is strongest.”

Potter sat beside him, their legs brushing. His scent mixed with the smell of everything sweet, and Draco’s mouth began salivating.

“How much longer?” he asked impatiently.

Potter’s eyes glowed as he grinned. “Not long. Hungry, are you?”

“We just ate.”

“Which is why I’m surprised. You’re almost like a teenage boy again.”

Merlin, he didn’t know how right he was.

"Look,” Potter said, saving Draco from having to reply. “The others are catching up.”

Draco watched with fascination as the other biscuits turned to golden hues. He also noted the way they’d slightly expanded in size, remembering the way Potter had instructed him to leave space between each spoonful of batter.

Potter smiled after a few minutes and pulled on some baking mittens, looking incredibly domestic that it took Draco a second or two to relax.

He pulled out the baking trey and set it aside on the counter.

“We have to let them cool for a few minutes,” he said, pulling the mittens off.

Draco wanted to groan. “Why?”

Potter rolled his eyes as he turned off the oven, pushing the door shut with his knee. “For one, you wouldn’t want to burn your tongue.”

Draco tsked. “Fine.”

Potter seemed amused. “Just for several minutes, Malfoy. Relax.”

Draco stiffened. “I am relaxed.”

With a snort, Potter walked away to the living room.

Draco glanced at the biscuits one more time before he followed.

It didn’t take as long as Draco had assumed for Potter to declare that the biscuits were “cooled”.

He fished out a spatula and carefully lifted each biscuit onto a plate until they had a tower of biscuits on a plate.

“I chose a small plate,” Potter thought out loud.

“We’ll just have to eat the ones that are about to fall,” and as he said it, Draco reached out and grabbed a biscuit.

He shoved it in his mouth and bit back a moan as the chocolate melted in his mouth. “Salazar, this is incredible.”

Potter smiled and carried the plate back to the living room.

They sat on the couch, Potter with the plate on his lap while Draco sat close enough to grab a bite whenever he could.

Potter tasted a biscuit and Draco wasn’t prepared for the moan that he made.

Twice.

He made that cock jerking, heart wrenching, stomach flipping moan twice in one day. Draco could hardly breathe as his his eyes watched the way Potter’s mouth worked to digest the biscuit.

“It’s been a while since I made these, I wasn’t sure if they would taste the same. Bloody hell, you’re right though. They taste so good.”

Draco wasn’t paying attention, his heart felt heavy, his pants were tight again, and everything suddenly felt incredibly small.

His eyes were still trained on Potter’s lips, and fuck, there was melted chocolate smeared across it.

Draco suddenly remembered Potter saying something about licking chocolate away, and he swallowed hard at the idea of just leaning forward and doing it.

“Malfoy?”

Draco grunted. His vision cleared, and he saw Potter licking his fingers. “You okay?”

He nodded.

Then he grabbed the plate.

"Hey-!" Potter burst out but Draco ignored him as he set the plate aside, and shoved Potter backwards so he fell onto his back against the couch with a yelp.

"What are you doing?" Potter tried sitting up, but Draco wouldn't let him. 

He placed both hands on Potter's shoulders and pushed. Then he straddled him, slowly, eyes dark as he maintained eye contact. 

"Malfoy."

Potter's eyes were hooded as he peered up beneath his heavy lashes. 

Without even thinking about it, Draco's mouth fell against Potter's and he froze. 

He'd wanted this. He wanted it so bad that he was finally doing it. He was kissing Potter on the lips, but now that he somehow plucked up the courage, his body would not respond.

So Potter did.

He shut his eyes and let his fingers roam up to Draco's soft, blonde hair. Let his fingers run through the silky strands before he moved his lips, slowly. Coaxing, alluring, so that Draco would wake up and see what he'd done. He'd done it. He made the first move and now Potter was willing.

A lick of his bottom lip, and Draco was back. He had his fingers fisted around Potter's side and he was ravishing his mouth, exploring it with this bursting need like his entire existence depended on it. Like it was the reason he was born, and fuck, he tasted like buiscuits. Potter tasted like home baked, chocolate buiscuits and the lingering flavor of tea from the café. 

It was everything. It was all the chocolate in the world, all the tea, all the buiscuits and cakes and vanilla ice-cream. Potter was all of it.

Warmth radiated from them. Their intertwining bodies twisting as they pushed against one another on that couch, lips locked with a key that was banished before time itself existed. 

Potter felt and tasted like nothing Draco could have ever imagined in his head. Nothing like his day dreams of kissing Potter by a hidden alley, pressed to a giant tree, pushed up against the counter. This was better. Just him and Potter on his couch.

Simple.

He opened his eyes and pulled away, gasping for air, but who really needed air? Merlin, he wished he could have Potter's lips on his forever. It was ridiculous. His father was probably twisting in his grave.

"Draco," Potter's fingers twisted the hair at the nape of his neck.

He glanced up to meet his eyes.

"Fuck."

It was that lazy smile. That fucking smile. Those drunken eyes. 

"Fuck," he said again.

 


	25. Eighteen

Draco rested his head against the counter and watched as a few students walked past the store. He closed his eyes and focused on the sound of the owls getting comfortable in their cages, ruffling their feathers. If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear the gentle sound of the ice cream stand across the street.

This is what he needed.

He needed the ease. He needed the quiet, the time to think, the time to relax. He needed the time to detach.

He'd gotten too close.

He could still hear Pansy's warning. Potter would be leaving eventually. He would come to his senses and realize that people actually cared about him somewhere else, and he would pack up his things and leave. He would remember the way he liked attention, liked his doting  _fans_ , and he would leave the only person who ever saw him as him behind. 

Draco had left quickly after the kiss. He'd seen that look and took off. 

He understood the appeal. He wouldn't hold it against Potter.

The door swung open and Potter took off the flimsy hat he wore.

"Better?"

Draco wasn't sure what he was referring to.

He'd kissed those lips. 

The ones that moved to shape letters and words.

"Malfoy?"

"What?"

Potter met his eyes before looking away. "My hat?"

"It's horrendous."

Potter snorted, shaking his head but still not looking his way. 

"Does it work?"

"Yes," Draco resigned.

"Good."

"Is that why you are here? To test out your latest...attempt at a disguise?" Draco tried picking up a catalogue and leafing through its pages, but everything in the room was a blur.

"Mainly."

"What do the other parts consist of?"

Potter walked towards the counter but he still avoided Draco eyes. 

Until he stood only inches away. Then he allowed his eyes to travel up the fine, intricate bone structure of Draco's face.

"Seeing you."

Draco ignored that tug. "Well you've seen me."

Potter looked down. "It was a dream, then."

"What are you talking about?"

Potter shook his head, placing that hat on his head again.

Merlin, it looked awful.

"Nothing. Good day, Malfoy."

"Potter-"

"Good day," he repeated, voice ringing against the cages as he stepped away.

"Dammit, wait." Draco rounded the counter and grabbed Potter's arms. "Why are you here?"

"Nothing. It was nothing."

"Stop lying to me. I know you're lying."

"You know nothing." Potter yanked his arm away. "I need to go."

"Stop doing that! Stop pretending that I don't see what you're trying to do."

"What _am_ I trying to do?" Potter spat. "C'mon. Tell me."

"You're pushing me away." Draco didn't let his eyes off Potter no matter how much he truly wanted to.

"Isn't that what you want? Fuck, it's obviously all you've ever wanted. You've always wanted me away. I'm leaving you alone. Be grateful for it."

 _I don't want you to leave me alone._ "What did you mean earlier?"

Potter frowned. "What?"

"About a dream. You said-"

Potter shook his head. "Forget it. Goodbye, Malfoy."

The door swung shut and Draco lost sight of Potter as he hid in the crowd outside.

**

Lunch with his mother on Sundays were something Draco did not necessarily look forward to. 

He knew it was the right thing to do. To walk into their old home, pretend his father wasn't dead, pretend everything had always been  _normal_.

Walk past that room and not flinch.

It was exhausting.

His mother greeted him by the door, gently pulling him in for a hug before pressing her lips to the top of his head. "How are you, Draco?"

"Splendid. You, Mother?"

She gave him a sad smile. "Better."

It was always like that. Him pretending to be doing fine while she remained somewhat truthful.

The dining room table was laid out with food. His mother had insisted on keeping the elves around, but with Granger's law she had to maintain it with a price.

Draco worked hard. It paid off in the end.

"How is work?" she asked.

"Fine," he scowled into his soup. "Still don't like the damned beasts."

His mother bristled. "I told you that taking on a job was unnecessary. Your father-"

"I don't care," he said, trying his best to even out his tone. 

She placed a hand over his own for a moment before dragging it away. "How's Parkinson, then?"

"All right," he shrugged.

"Any...anyone else?"

Draco's mind flashed with images of Potter's face. Hot and bothered beneath him, worried as his eyes turned wild, crinkled as he laughed at something Draco said. 

He managed to keep the other images away for now.

"No."

"I always wondered who you would marry," she said. "When you were a little boy. Your father...he was intent on choosing someone for you, but I always had a feeling that you would find someone on your own. Perhaps someone he would not agree on even though you were always the pleasing son. Always your father's son, as a child."

"Mother-"

She held up a hand, tucking a strand of fair hair behind her ear. His ever so beautiful mother. "You are your own person now. A man. You are strong, and independent, and honorable. I could not have wished for a better son. I'm so proud of you, Draco. I know how much you hate owls, but you show up there anyway."

"I have to. For both of our sakes."

She shook her head. "I could have moved somewhere smaller. You could have stayed here."

"No," he said. "No, I can barely stand being here once a week. I could never live here. Never again."

Her eyes glistened before she looked away. "It can be quite lonely here without the two of you."

Draco remained silent for the rest of the afternoon.

His mother served him tea in the garden afterwards, a plate of biscuits on the side. 

"Chocolate?" he asked.

She cocked her head to the side. "Plain. I was not aware you preferred chocolate."

"Recent discovery," he said quietly as he placed one on the side of his saucer.

"I would like to hear more about that."

He waved his hand in the air. "Nothing special."

It was everything but that.

It  _was_ everything.

Those mornings, afternoons, nighttimes with Potter. Cooking or baking in his kitchen.

It was tranquil and calming. Almost therapeutic.

**

Potter swallowed when he saw him there, standing outside of his apartment. "Malfoy."

Draco stretched out his arm, and when Potter finally tore his eyes away from his face, he spread his palm open.

Draco dropped the napkin in his hand.

Potter unwrapped it and picked up the biscuit. His cheeks flushed. "What is this?"

Draco smirked. "Incompetent, are we?"

Potter glared at him before taking a bite. "It's plain."

"It reminded me of you."

"Hilarious."

"I'd like to think so."

Potter shook his head and ate the rest of the biscuit before holding out the napkin.

"Keep it."

"But-"

"Mother has a thousand more of those." She actually didn't, those were one of her favorites and she only had twelve or so pieces of them, but Draco would buy her a better set.

"Your mother?" Potter was still holding the napkin as if it came from a different planet.

Draco grabbed the napkin and reached forward to tuck it in Potter's pocket. "Lunch."

"Ah, it's Sunday."

"That it is."

They both hovered by the doorway silently after that. Each in his own thoughts.

"Last time-" Potter shook his head.

"What?" Draco's heartbeat thrummed. 

"Forget it. Want to make dinner?"

"Mother feeds me a lot. She thinks I've 'grown sickeningly thinner'."

"Little does she know how much time you've been spending in the kitchen." Potter pulled a half-smile.

Draco mirrored it.

He'd tasted that mouth.

He wanted to taste it again.

The thought of it burned in his chest.

Potter would only forget it again.

He'd forget.

Then it would be as if they never kissed in the first place, and it would still be consensual because Potter wanted it too. He just couldn't do it. Couldn't make the first move.

Draco rested his arm against the door frame and leaned forward, the way he'd seen many Muggle actors do on TV.

Potter caught the movement and his eyes darkened in contrast as they fell to the part where Draco's shirt inched up.

"Are you going to invite me in?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound a little heavier, a little huskier than usual.

"Why should I?"

Draco made sure Potter was paying attention when he ran his fingers through is own hair. As he licked his lips and dropped his gaze to Potter's lips.

Potter stepped back, leaving enough room for Draco to walk through the door.

He shut the door behind when Draco stepped into his living room, leaning against it as he watched Draco move.

"You still haven't given me a reason," he spoke.

Draco turned to him slowly. "Do you really need one?"

"With you?"

"Things have changed, haven't they?" Draco stepped closer. 

Potter's breath hitched, Draco could see it. That bob in his throat.

"Not much with you involved."

"Been getting those headaches again?" 

Potter's eyebrows met. "A little bit. Why?"

"Did you get them when I left last time?"

Potter nodded, still confused. "Why did you leave?"

"I would have had to eventually."

"No," Potter shook his head. "You didn't just leave. You practically fled."

Draco was losing his composure, slowly but surely. That dull ache in his chest now intensified, heart beating faster but not for the same reasons as before.

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking you. You were here...then you weren't. Did I do something?" Potter's skin was pale.

He remembered.

He must have remembered. 

"No," Draco walked back to the living room. "You didn't do anything. I just left because I'd stayed for too long."

Potter could forget it this time, but to Draco it would just be another one sided kiss.

Another experience they couldn't share.


	26. Back Again

_They were asking me about your name._

_Kept repeating your name._

_It was like an overplayed record, where I knew every word they were about to cast my way, but I could never stop them._

_I would shout at them to 'shut up', 'go away', 'fuck off'. They didn't._

_They cornered me to the wall as my cheeks glistened and my heart thudded all the way to my ears._

_They asked me questions but I kept thinking of your face, your hair, the imaginary touch of your hans on my waist and I couldn't do it. They told me they would be back, but I would never speak your name in their presence. I would never let them taint it with their poison greased lips. Never let them near enough to touch you, for them to back you up in a corner like they did to me._

_To me._

_Never to you._

_You saved me._

_Now it was my turn to to save you._


	27. Nineteen

Pansy knew something was up. 

She stared at Draco the moment he walked into the staff room. 

Gave him one glance and instantly started asking him questions.

"What did he do?"

"Who?" Draco could only think of Potter. Could only think of those bright green eyes, those half-hearted jokes. His lips. Chocolate covered lips with that aftertaste of  _him_. It was better than anything else he'd touched to his lips. Better than those lunches with Mother, even as spectacularly prepared as they were.

"Potter. He hurt you again."

"Again?" Draco frowned. "What are you on about?"

She shook her head, eyes worried. "I told you he would leave."

"He hasn't gone anywhere."

"Not yet, perhaps. That does not mean you can pretend it won't happen."

"It won't."

She cursed, running her fingers through her hair. "This is what I'm talking about. You're _so_ fucking sure that he'll stay. For you? He would't. He's  _Potter._ For Merlin's sake, Draco."

"Say what you will. Nothing happened."

She eyed him carefully. "I haven't seen him in a while."

"Pansy..." the warning in his tone was clear as day. He knew that look. Very, very well.

"Dinner."

"No."

"Ask him to dinner and tell him that I'll be there. You choose the time and place."

"Parkinson, I swear-"

"Have fun." She crushed him in a hug before leaving the store.

Draco slid into a seat and let his head fall in his hands.

 _Fuck_ , again.

** 

"I still can't believe she asked you to bring  _me_."

"Potter, it will be fine."

He was not reassured. "How can you say that? She's Pansy Parkinson."

"Yes, I know her name very well. Did not need a reminder, Potter."

"Shut up."

Potter was chewing at his bottom lip and it was like he'd forgotten.

Well, he had.

But it was like he'd forgotten the way Draco's skin showed when he raised his arms, or the way his face flushed whenever Draco said anything near suggestive. Or the way his eyes fell to Draco's lips.

The way he wanted it.

Draco hated that he could do that.

Just ignore that burning need.

He knew Potter wanted him just as much as he did. He'd kissed him back.

Maybe not in the same conscience but it was still him.

The same intentions.

It took everything not to push him against a wall and kiss him until Potter woke up and became one person. As he should be.

Why wasn't he?

Why couldn't he be normal so Draco could kiss him and know that it would mean something?

But it couldn't be normal.

He wasn't just Harry.

He was Harry Potter.

Potter who pointed his wand at him too many times to keep track of.

The one who fought harder than Draco thought possible.

Draco tore his eyes away from Potter's lips with a frown.

"What is it?" Potter asked.

"What?"

"You gave me that look. Is it my clothes? "

"Since when do you care?" but Draco, Draco, Draco the fucking dolt let his eyes skim over Potter's body in the precise method he'd banned himself to do. 

He'd set those rules for a reason.

Draco had told Potter to "make your appearance matter for once, would you?" but he wasn't expecting  _that_.

So here he was, eyes burning and heart pounding in the middle of a Muggle street in London. 

Potter had taken his advice. Merlin, did he  _live_ and  _breathe_ that advice when he chose his outfit. 

The fine suited dress shirt tucked beneath the simple belt fastened around those slimming, yet tasteful, dark slacks. He'd rolled his sleeves up at some point during their walk to the restaurant.

It revealed Potter's thick veins, strong arms, evident muscles.

"It will do."

Potter exhaled into the night, allowing his head to tip back for a moment. "Good."

Draco wasn't to blame when his thoughts turned explicit and dirty. At the image of Potter's head thrown back, those green eyes shut tight, lips parted.

He needed to stop.

He needed a distraction. Something, anything, to take his mind of Potter's writhing body below...below someone else's body, because Draco wouldn't let himself do it. 

He wouldn't allow his head to conjure up images of him and Potter. Like that. In a bed with their clothes somewhere or other and their skin-

No.

He just simply wouldn't. 

When they finally made it to the restaurant in one piece, Draco let his shoulders relax. His eyes scanned the perimeter for any sign of Pansy, and caught the shine of her dark hair before his eyes even landed on her face.

"Over there," his hand brushed Potter's elbow casually as they maneuvered towards Pansy.

If she noticed that last minute decision of a touch, she didn't let on, and Draco was grateful for it. 

Potter and Pansy exchanged pleasantries and awkward greetings before the three of them settled down in their seats.

Pansy and Draco did most of the talking. Or bickering, it made no difference.

Potter watched by the sidelines, eyes curious with a glint of longing. 

Perhaps for his old friends, who he'd left behind. Draco wasn't sure, but he'd tried to include Potter into their conversations as soon as he noticed it.

Pansy, on the other hand, made it a lot harder for the two of them. 

"So, Potter," she started, taking a delicate sip of her red whine. "Any love interests?"

Draco kicked her from underneath the table. She ignored him.

Potter cleared his throat. "No. None."

"Interesting."

Draco groaned inwardly. He wished he'd said no. Put his foot down. Demanded that Pansy did  _not_ in fact control him and that he did _not_ need to attend this ridiculous masquerade. 

"Is it?" Draco's voice drowned them all with venom.

"Well, you see," Pansy went on. "Our dear friend Potter here hesitated before responding."

Ridiculous. Just as he'd thought.

"Maybe he just-"

"I'm sitting here, in the same room, just as the two of you."

"Right."

"Understood."

Potter cracked a smile. "I merely cleared my throat, Parkinson."

"I see, but it seemed like you were uncomfortable. Is it because you're not sure of him? Of this man who you secretly harbor feelings for?"

"For Merlin's sake," Draco poured himself another drink. He'd need a lot more.

"You could say so," Potter said, carefully. "He's complicated."

"Aren't they all?"

"No, not in comparison."

Draco cast his eyes to the napkin on his lap. Potter needed to shut up. Just close his large (and oh so fucking delicious tasting) mouth for once.

Pansy hummed, swirling the liquid in her glass. "He just needs a little push, I think."

"You think?" Potter sounded hopeful, distant in his own thoughts. 

Draco prayed that Potter wasn't thinking of him. He wanted it to be him, of course he did, but that look on Potter's face...It was pain, need, admiration. 

It didn't make sense.

Didn't add up, so Draco refused to think about it.

He created a generic face in his head, of a man with brown hair, plain features and replaced himself.

There.

That was normal, fine, made sense. Added up.

"What about you?"

Draco smiled at Pansy's momentary pause. 

"Oh, I haven't got an eye on anyone. Just the occasional one night stands."

Potter nodded, as if he understood.

He probably did, Draco thought. Everyone did at some point. 

He pretended like it didn't bother him as he continued to pick at his food.

In the end they all loosened up and threw out the fact that they haven't always gotten along, that the history they shared was a scrambled mess with no hope for salvation. 

The past was the past.

Pansy and Potter didn't have much in common, but Draco's presence was one, and they skirted around the subject. Of how they'd all have laughed if someone had told them a year ago that they would be happily, voluntarily conversing in a Muggle restaurant.

Two Slytherins and a Gryffindor.

"Nice to see you again, Potter," Pansy said as she gathered her things and stood up from her seat. "

Yeah," Potter awkwardly stumbled to his feet. "You, too."

They exchanged smiles.

"Right," Draco muttered to himself as he got ready to leave as well.

"Draco and I are taking a walk. Draco?" Pansy stared at him.

He would have prefered locking his arms around Potter instead, and with the amount of alcohol he'd consumed throughout dinner, the thought of it did not seem to bother him much at all.

"Yes," the words sounded forced to his own ears, but he ignored the odd glance Potter sent his way.

The one that looked like longing, too.

This time of something more than friendship, far more intricate than that. 

It made Draco's cheeks  _this_ close to blushing.

"Well, I hope we manage to catch up soon," Potter said.

"We will," Pansy affirmed, leaving an unsettling feeling in Draco's gut.

They finally parted ways; Potter headed for one side of the street, while Draco and Pansy stumbled their way through the other.

"He's fit as hell."

Draco scoffed. "Is he? I really haven't noticed."

"Shut up." She laughed, hooking their arms together. "You know you need to be more careful."

"I know," he said softly. 

"Merlin, this is ridiculous."

"What?"

"All of this," she waved her free hand in the air. "You. Potter. You're like children, running in circles with your heads unattached."

Draco winced. "Lovely description."

"But really," her tone took a serious turn. "He has you practically wrapped around his finger, Draco. Perhaps with a shag or two-"

"Pans!"

She pulled a face at him, and he suddenly felt like he was back at Hogwarts. A teenage version of himself, conversing freely with Pansy.

Time changed, and sometimes it took parts of people with it. Some parts, it left alone.

"Oh, don't pretend you haven't thought of it already."

 _A million times, actually_ , he wanted to say. 

"So you think I should just 'get it out of my system'."

"Yes. It'll do you well. Rid of that suffocating sexual tension, and you'll find that he's just another person with a cock between his legs."

He shook his head. "You've gotten worse."

She shushed him, dismissing his insignificant words. "Let me know if it doesn't work. Which it is unlikely. It's worked plenty of times."

"Pansy, I'm  _not_ shagging Potter."

"Why not? You obviously want to."

_Why not?_

Because he'd just forget it the next morning. Assume it was a wet dream, and move on with it. Not even show it in Draco's face.

Leave it to Draco's imagination to come up with pillow talks and morning kisses.

"Ridiculous," he said, thoughts elsewhere.

Pansy shrugged. "Whatever. It was just a suggestion."

 _Just a ridiculous suggestion_.


	28. Twenty

Simon was helping out at the owlery when Potter strolled in.

He'd taken one good look at Simon feeding the owls, and stood frozen in his tracks.

He tried to think of a quick excuse, a quick disguise before Simon turned around and noticed him there.

It didn't help that the bell hanging over the door had done its job and now Simon was muttering "Just a minute" under his breath as he bent down to pick up a heavy box.

Potter cursed, turning on his heels for extra time, thought of a quick spell that changed his hair color to pale blonde and his green eye to brown. He tugged his hair down to cover the scar.

"Oh, hello. I didn't see you there."

Potter turned around carefully. "Hullo."

"Look, I'm just here to help out with the heavy lifting and stuff. If you need anything, I'll just call over the real guys from out back." Simon looked at him expectedly.

"Actually," Potter said, "I'd like that, if you don't mind. I'd like to speak with...Malfoy."

Simon nodded. "Right away."

Draco emerged from the "Staff Only" door moments later and stared.

"What the fuck?"

Potter ran his fingers through his hair sheepishly, grateful that the little helper boy hadn't followed Draco out.

"Hey."

"Why do you look like...that?"

"Didn't recognize that guy."

"No shit." Draco scoffed.

"Sorry, I just...Needed to see you. I thought you'd be alone."

"No, we've hired him. Part time. As an intern, mainly."

"Oh."

Draco straightened out his collar and tried not to stare as Potter's blonde hair slowly turned into its natural color as the charm he'd cast slowly faded. "His name's Simon."

Potter nodded, fiddling with his nails. "I think I'll just go, then."

Draco took a step towards him. "Was it anything important?"

Potter's eyes met his shoes. "Is it ever?"

Draco's heart felt heavy in his chest. "You're Harry Potter."

Potter snorted unexpectedly. "So?"

"Most people would consider everything coming out of your mouth important."

"Little do they know, right?"

"Yeah," Draco said softly.

Potter shot him a forced smile. "I really should go. Before he shows up again."

"Oh, don't worry about him," said Draco, unable to part with Potter just yet. "Forced him to take a break. Been working on his feet for hours."

"No, I really should," Potter ran his fingers through his hair, pulling down a hair to examine it, eyes crossed. "See?"

"I see." Draco wanted to smirk at how stupid Potter looked with his eyes crossed, but laughing at Potter had slowly lost its appeal. He wanted to hear other things now, things he never thought he wanted to hear from anyone let alone Potter himself.

"But we should catch up soon," he said, brown eyes blazing a fiery kind of green now. "Cook something."

"If I'm not busy."

Potter smiled. "If you're not busy."

Draco watched the door swing shut behind Potter and heaved against the counter.

"He seemed familiar to me. Anyone I should know?"

Draco turned around to see Simon brushing dirt off his apron. 

"No," he said, "no one you would have heard of."

**

"Draco."

Potter was running his fingers up his arm.

It happened suddenly. 

They were just stirring apple sauce in a pan when Potter said his name like that, touched his arm like that.

It sent shivers up his arms, hairs standing on end. In both ways. He wanted more, and he wanted it to stop.

This wasn't Potter.

Not really him.

He eased the hand off his arm. "Almost done with the sauce."

Not-So-Potter let his hand drop to his side, but the smile on his face was still intact.

"I've missed you."

Draco's heart clenched. 

Salazar, it shouldn't hurt this much.

Nothing should.

In fact, he shouldn't feel anything at all at this point.

Draco lifted the pan off the stove, turning the fire off in the process. He set the pan aside on the counter, pulled out the donuts they'd prepared earlier, and drizzled the hot red liquid over it.

Then he sprinkled a little dash of powdered sugar on top, and pushed the plate in Potter's direction. "Desert."

Potter licked his lips, but his eyes weren't on the donuts.

Something crept up Draco's spine. Something cold and terrifying. 

He hated this so much more than he thought he did.

It barely made sense to him at all.

He was supposed to be back at the owlery, feeding the owls, avoiding their wrath of angrily fluttering feathers as best as he could. 

Not _this_.

Not feeling things for Potter, not dealing with his split personality, not making apple sauce and having to lick it off by himself.

"Take one," he pushed further.

"Fine."

Potter took a donut, proceeded to take bites out of it until he licked his fingers clean, his lips clean, and everything clean but Draco's filthy mind.

"I'll wrap this up for later," he mumbled, lifting the plate.

Potter's fingers snaked around his wrist. "Eat one, too."

"I'm not hungry."

"You don't have to be. It's just dessert, not a meal."

Draco took a donut, and Potter's warm hand slipped away.

He wrapped up the plate and set it aside...for when Potter came to.

"I should go," he said, knowing his announcement was rather abrupt. He didn't care.

"You just got here."

"I want to leave."

Potter nibbled on his lower lip. "Why?"

"You. You're not yourself." Draco scowled, unable to look Potter directly in the eye.

"Me?"

"You're-you're insane. You do things that you don't mean to do-"

Potter interrupted him. "Like what?"

"Just things. Then you forget that you do them at all, and it feels strange."

"Things?"

"For fuck's sake, Potter. You kissed me. Remember?"

Potter nodded slowly. "I do. On the couch. We had chocolate biscuits the way Muggles do. You put the plate away and kissed me. You initiated it."

Draco stared at the kitchen tiles, heart racing. "I shouldn't have."

"I wanted you to. If you hadn't done it, then I would have. Eventually."

Draco shook his head, which pounded painfully.

This was all too confusing. His mind refused to catch up.

"Like," Potter stood from his seat on the kitchen chair and walked towards him, "right now."

Draco, cheeks flushed, slowly tilted his head up. "What?"

Potter rested a hand on his chest and gave a little push.

Draco's back met the kitchen wall behind him. 

"Like this."

Potter leaned in, eyes half shut, and kissed him.

Draco melted as soon as he felt those soft lips pressed against his own. As soon as Potter's lips moved, took his bottom lip in his mouth and tugged lightly.

His hips jerked, and his hand instantly flew to Potter's dark hair. He pulled him closer.

Tongues met, teeth clashed, their breaths shook as Potter pressed him harder against the wall, knee wedged between his legs.

He pulled back, green eyes misty and trained on Draco's lips.

"Like that."

"Potter," Draco breathed pathetically.

His head was telling him to stop, sounding alarms over every part of his being, but his lips wouldn't stop tingling. 

His fingers shook as they combed through Potter's soft curls.

"You taste like apples," Potter murmured.

Draco swallowed harshly. "We can't keep doing this."

But by the time he got those words out, Potter's mouth was attached to his neck.

Draco tilted his head back and shuddered, feeling Potter's wet saliva mark trails over his skin, occasionally grazing his teeth against the sensitive expanse, teasing.

His lips traveled further downwards, fingers catching up as they loosened the first few buttons on Draco's shirt. He kissed his sharp collarbones, licked the skin, gnawed on the protruding bones.

Draco allowed himself to relax against the wall behind him, eyes shut while his breath struggled to maintain a regular pattern.

He wanted Potter's warm mouth somewhere else.

"Fuck," he muttered as Potter's fingers got rid of his shirt all together. 

Potter slowly dropped to his knees.

"W-wait." Draco opened his eyes to look down at Potter, whose lips were red and swollen. "Don't."

"I won't use my teeth."

"Potter, stand up."

He stood. 

"This isn't right," he whispered, grabbing his shirt back.

"But I want to."

"No," Draco straightened up the collars. "Maybe a part of you does, but not you. I-I can't let you do this."

Potter frowned, but he carefully stepped away from Draco's path. "Okay."

"Okay," Draco repeated. He straightened himself out, ignored the strain in his pants, and walked towards the kitchen door. "I can show myself out."

Potter's eyes remained glued to floor, his fingers massaging his temples. "I'm not feeling too good."

"Maybe you should lie down."

Potter, now clutching his head, wobbled as he walked towards the door.

He almost stumbled, but grabbed onto the counter at the last minute.

Draco's feet quickly carried him towards Potter. "Perhaps I should help."

He took Potter's arm and walked him to his room, where he gently helped him under the covers.

"You should sleep."

Potter nodded, shutting his eyes. "Thank you."

Draco waited until Potter's facial muscles relaxed, his shoulder went slack, and then left the apartment.

**

"You're avoiding me."

"And you're surprised?"

Draco dug his hands into his pockets. It was getting chillier out.

"Sort of." Potter tried to catch up with him, but it was as if Draco purposely and literally wanted Potter to run after him.

"Why is that?"

Potter grabbed his wrist, pulling them both to a stop.

Draco remembered those fingers around his wrist from another time, and he quickly pulled away.

"I thought we were over that."

"Well, you thought wrong." 

Potter frowned, eyes showing a little bit of hurt.

Draco wanted to scoff. Silly Potter and his silly fucking feelings.

"You don't have to be so mean about it."

"Are you going to cry?" Draco made a show of leaning forward, but his eyes strayed and suddenly he was standing in the middle of the street, freezing his _arse_ off, and staring at Potter's pretty pink lips.

Pathetic.

Potter took a step back. "Fuck off."

"You're the one following  _me_ , Potter."

"Because you wouldn't listen to me back at the store."

Draco let out a frustrated groan. "Would you leave me alone?"

"Why?"

"I'm just tired."

Potter looked away, nodding to himself. "Of me."

"Matter of fact, yes. Sick of seeing your face everywhere I go."

"Right."

"And hearing your stupid voice, using your stupid Muggle references, cooking with your stupid Muggle equipment-"

"Then why did you do it in the first place?" Potter spat. "Was it to tease me? String me along?"

Draco gave a bitter laugh. "String you along? I don't want you. I never did."

"I didn't mean it like that," Potter's cheeks flushed. "I meant-I meant as a friend. You thought it was okay to make me think that...Forget it, Malfoy. I thought you've changed."

"I have," Draco said. "Doesn't mean you have to see it."

"Why are you like this? Why do you like pushing me away? I thought you fucking liked me, you git."

Draco smirked. "As a  _friend_?"

"No, actually." Potter took a few steps backwards. "More than that."

Draco opened his mouth to retaliate but Potter was gone, disappearing somewhere behind some _thing_. 

Leaving Draco alone in that cold street, wishing he could have made him stay when he had the chance.


End file.
